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Rook .H \ C 1 4-I 

Copyright N° V <K 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 












I 




THE VALLEY 
OF ARCANA 


BY 

ARTHUR PRESTON HANKINS 

v» 

AUTHOR OF 

"the jubilee girl,” "the heritage of the hills,” ETC. 




NEW YORK 

DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 

1923 





Copyright, 1923, 

By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc. 



t 


PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY 

®be tfhunn & Skften Company 

BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
RAHWAY NEW JERSEY 


SF.P 20 ’23 

©C1A759043 

/*! t I 



\ 


TO 

THE MEMORY OF 

My Father 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 



PAGE 

I 

An Extra Bed. 

• 

I 

II 

El Trono de Tolerancia . 

• 

9 

III 

The Prospector’s Story 

9 

18 

IV 

A Member of the Clan 


26 

V 

The Conference at Jorny Springs . 


33 

VI 

Second Sight. 


43 

VII 

Lot’s Wife and Shirttail Henry . 

O 

54 

VIII 

Missing. 


65 

IX 

A Case for Rejuvenation . 


74 

X 

Shirttail Bend. 


82 

XI 

The Trail to Mosquito . 


93 

XII 

The Land of Queer Delights . 


IOI 

XIII 

At Two in the Canon 


113 

XIV 

The Long Straw . 


128 

XV 

Vagrancy Canon. 


136 

XVI 

The Camp in Vagrancy Canon 


i 45 

XVII 

Bear Pass. 


156 

XVIII 

In the Palm of the Mountains 


169 

XIX 

Riddles ....... 


180 

XX 

The Interim of Doubts . 


190 

XXI 

The Cave of Hypocritical Frogs . 


201 

XXII 

Dr. Shonto Rides Alone . 


211 

XXIII 

Old Acquaintances .... 


221 

XXIV 

Mary Chooses a Seat .... 


228 

XXV 

The Deadly Bull and the Silver Fox 


238 

XXVI 

The Last Tablet .... 


248 

XXVII 

Adrift on Lost River .... 


260 

XXVIII 

The Message. 


270 














THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


CHAPTER I 

AN EXTRA BED 

T RIED outlanders though they were, Dr. Inman 
Shonto and Andy Jerome were hopelessly lost. 
Afoot, horseback, and by motor car the pair 
had covered thousands of square miles of desert and 
forest land in Southern California. But it was differ¬ 
ent up here in the mountainous region of the northern 
part of the state, where they found themselves sur¬ 
rounded by heavy timber vaster than they had dreamed 
could have been left standing by the ensanguined hand 
of the lumberman. And, besides, thin fingers of fog 
were reaching in from the sea, about eighteen miles 
to the west of them. 

For hours they had been following wooded ridges, 
which here and there offered a view of the seemingly 
illimitable sweep of redwood forests below them. 
Spruce, fir, several varieties of oak, and madrones 
crowned these ridges—trees of a height and girth that 
they could understand. But down below them towered 
the monarchs of the vegetable kingdom, straight as 
the path of righteousness, solemn, aloof—impossible 
trees—whose height would bring their tops on a level 
with the clock of the Metropolitan Building, whose 


2 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

boles occupied a space greater than a good-sized living 
room. 

They awed the southerners immeasurably, for this 
was their first trip into the northern part of their state. 
They were silent as they hurried on, sliding down steep 
slopes, clambering up rocky, timbered inclines, always 
hoping for some familiar object that would show them 
they were on the campward trail. 

Each carried a . 25--35 rifle, for they had left camp 
early that morning to hunt deer—and both had enter¬ 
tained fond hopes that a wandering bear or a panther 
might cross their path. The doctor had wounded a 
big six-pointer close to noon, and following the bloody 
trail which the cripple left had led the pair astray. 

Now night was close at hand, and, for all they knew, 
they were still many miles from camp. The trail had 
inveigled them down into the mysteries of the dark 
forest below them, and there they had lost all sense 
of direction. With the approach of night they had 
abandoned the bloody trail and climbed to the ridges 
once more, in the hope of relocating themselves. But 
an hour had passed, and they still were lost. 

“This is a little serious, Andy,” remarked the doc¬ 
tor. “I’m afraid we haven’t much of an idea as to 
the vast scope of this forest. Of course we’ll make it 
back some time, and I guess we’re old enough hands 
at the game to take care of ourselves until we do; 
but meanwhile we’re going to be up against a little 
inconvenience, to put it mildly.” 

“It’s going to be mighty cold to-night,” was the 
only answer that the younger man vouchsafed. 


AN EXTRA BED 3 

He was about twenty-four, this companion of the 
doctor—a good-looking youth with light curly hair 
and a friendly blue eye. He was of medium height, 
well knit, wiry. His step was light and his muscles 
sure, and more than once the older man eyed him 
admiringly as they hurried on into the coming dusk. 

Dr. Inman Shonto was one of those men who 
command attention wherever they go. He was tall 
and lean and broad-shouldered, and his outing clothes 
had been fitted to his remarkable body with precision. 
He was an ugly man as masculine comeliness goes, 
but, for all that, women found him intensely inter¬ 
esting. His nose was monstrous, and lightly pitted 
from bridge to tip. His mouth was big, and the lips 
were thick, puckered, and firm. His hair was thin 
and neutral in colour—somewhere between a dark 
brown and a light. His ears were rather large and 
a trifle outstanding. His eyes were grey and very 
intense in their manner of observing others. 

It was the strong face of a strong man. One knew 
instinctively that great will power was this man’s heri¬ 
tage. One believed, after a glance into that homely 
face, that this man took what he wanted from life, 
and that his wants were by no means puny. Even in 
hunting clothes Dr. Inman Shonto was fastidious. 
And his walk was fastidious, even here in the wilder¬ 
ness. The realization that he and his young companion 
were lost in the wilds did not serve to ruffle the doc¬ 
tor’s calm exterior. He was nothing if not self-con¬ 
trolled on all occasions. 

Despite his homeliness, his smile was engaging as he 


4 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

turned and looked back at Andy after topping a little 
bald rise toward which the two had been travelling, 
hoping on its summit to gain a better view of the 
surrounding country. 

“Andy,” he said, “I smell smoke. Sound encourag¬ 
ing?” 

The young man reached his side, and the two stood 
looking in every direction and sniffing speculatively. 

“I get it, too, Doctor,” Andy told the other finally. 
“It seems to be over in that direction.” 

Andy pointed west, and the doctor nodded silently. 

“There’s a ranch or a camp pretty close,” he decided. 
“Now let’s locate that smoke definitely and make a 
bee-line for it. I don’t just fancy a night in this cold, 
unfriendly forest.” 

“Do you know, Dr. Shonto,” said Andy, “that I 
don’t exactly think of the forest as unfriendly. Time 
and again, when you and I have been together in the 
outlands, you’ve thought nature unkind—bleak—un¬ 
friendly. Nature never strikes me that way.” 

“That’s your inheritance from your Alps-climbing 
Swiss ancestors, I imagine,” replied the doctor. “But, 
if you’ll pardon me, Andrew, I’m more interested right 
now in locating a welcoming curl of blue smoke over 
the treetops than I am in a discussion of the attitude 
of Mother Nature toward two of her misplaced atoms. 
Look over there to the west. (I suppose that’s west.) 
Don’t you imagine you see a thin stream of smoke 
going up over there—just above that massive bull pine 
on the brow of that hill? Confound this infernal 
fog!” 


AN EXTRA BED 


5 

“Yes, I believe you’re right,” Andy agreed after 
looking a long time in the direction the doctor had 
indicated. And after another pause—“Yes, smoke, all 
right. And if it weren’t for the fog it would spread, 
and we’d never have seen it. Now what, Doctor?” 

Dr. Shonto gave the surrounding country careful 
study. 

“It seems to me,” he decided, “that, if we head 
straight for that tall hr on the brow of the hill beyond 
the next one, we ought to see what’s causing the smoke. 
But we’ve got to go down and up, down and up; and 
we’ll pass through heavy timber between here and 
there. We must keep our wits about us and not 
swerve from a straight line. And that’s hard to do, 
with the fog rolling in on us. Anyway, it’s up to us 
to try it. Let’s go !” 

With each of them picking his own way, they rat¬ 
tled down steep slopes and came upon tiny creeks, cold, 
brown from the dye of fallen autumn leaves. They 
clambered up slopes that seemed far steeper because 
of the extra strain they put upon their hearts and 
muscles. Dense growths of chaparral occasionally 
confronted them and made them make detours, despite 
their firm resolve to keep to the straight and narrow 
way. But in half an hour after sighting the thin 
stream of smoke they came out in an open space on 
a hillside and saw the tall fir which was their goal. 

They crossed to it on level land, to look down a more 
precipitous slope than they had before encountered. 
And down there far below them they saw the misty 
gleam of cabin lights as they struggled with the night 


6 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

and the increasing obstinacy of the fog that marched 
in from the sea. 

“Here’s a sort of trail, Doctor,” announced An¬ 
drew Jerome. “And it looks to be leading straight 
toward those lights. Shall we try it?” 

“Sure,” replied the doctor. “By all means. You’re 
the better mountaineer, Andy—take the lead. We 
can get a shakedown on the floor of the man who made 
those lights, I guess, and get set on the right trail to¬ 
morrow morning.” 

It was dark now, and the insweeping fog added to 
the density of the surrounding gloom. Far to their 
left coyotes lifted their mocking, plaintive yodel to 
the Goddess of Darkness, their patron saint, who 
shielded their stealthy deviltry from the eyes of men. 
But the blurred lights beckoned the wanderers down¬ 
ward, and they obeyed the signal, slipping over 
rounded stones, staggering into prickly bushes, sliding 
over abrupt ledges. 

Andrew Jerome followed the trail by instinct, and 
Dr. Shonto was glad to follow Andy. The youth’s 
aptitude in the mountains was ever a source of wonder 
for the doctor, and often he had told the boy that he 
attributed it to heredity. For on his mother’s side of 
the family Andy’s ancestors had been of Alpine Swiss 
stock, by name Zanini. Dr. Inman Shonto was a 
firm believer in heredity, anyway, and his young 
friend’s dexterous mountaineering presented a sound 
basis for his theorizing. 

They came out eventually on level land, heavily tim¬ 
bered with pines. Straight through the pines the trail 


AN EXTRA BED 7 

led them, and soon they were confronted by a set of 
bars. Beyond the bars the fog-screened lights still 
invited them, so the doctor lifted his voice and 
called. 

There came no answer from the gloom. No dog 
rushed around an invisible cabin to challenge them. 

“Let’s take a chance, Andy,” said the doctor. “If 
a pack of hounds leaps out at us, we can retreat as 
gracefully as possible. We’ve got to get closer to 
make ourselves heard.” 

They crawled between the bars and struck out along 
a beaten path. Still no outraged canine came catapult¬ 
ing toward them. Still the house remained invisible. 
Only the smeared lights stared at them through the 
fog. 

Dr. Shonto came to a halt, and Andy stopped beside 
him. 

“In the cabin there !” called Shonto. “Cabin ahoy!” 

Several silent moments followed, and then, between 
the window lights that had lured them there, a new 
streak of muddy brilliancy grew to a rectangle, and a 
woman’s figure stood framed by a door. 

“Hello!” shouted the doctor. “We’re lost in the 
woods and hunting shelter for the night. Our camp is 
far from here, and we can’t find it. Can you help us 
out? There are two of us—two men! We’ll gladly 
pay you for your inconvenience.” 

They saw the figure of the woman turn. She was 
speaking with somebody within the cabin, and her 
profile was toward them. It vanished as she once 
more turned her face their w r ay. 


8 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

“Come on in!” came her invitation. “She says she’ll 
do the best she can for you.” 

“She,” muttered the doctor. “I once knew a man 
that never called his wife anything but ‘she.’ Come 
on—I smell baking powder biscuits, or my name’s not 
Shonto. Here’s the backwoods for you.” 

And then, as if to give the lie to his words, he 
stepped upon a broad stone doorstep and was faced 
by a radiant girl in a sky-blue evening gown, with 
precious stones in her dark hair, and gilded, high- 
heeled slippers on her feet. 

“Good evening,” she greeted them easily. “Wel¬ 
come to El Trono de Tolerancia. There are baking 
powder biscuits, venison, and chocolate for supper, and 
we’ve an extra bed,” 


CHAPTER II 


EL TRONO DE TOLERANCIA 

D R. INMAN SHONTO was not easily moved 
to a display of surprise, but for at least once 
in his life he found himself unequal to the oc¬ 
casion. 

The girl in the doorway was galvanically pretty. 
Her features were of that striking, contrasty quality 
that is the result of an artistic makeup—but she was 
not made up. She was dark, red-lipped, large-eyed, 
and her figure brought a quick flush of masculine ap¬ 
preciation in the doctor’s face. Physically, it seemed 
to him, he had never before seen so gloriously all-right 
a girl. But the desirable physical characteristics which 
she displayed were not what had caused the cat to get 
the physician’s tongue. It was the low-neck, sleeveless 
gown, the sparkling hair ornaments, the gilded slippers 
and the creaseless silk stockings—all of which had for 
their background the coal-oil-lighted interior of a log 
cabin lost in the wilderness—that had wrecked his cus¬ 
tomary poise. 

Her ringing laugh served in a measure to readjust 
his scattered wits. She had interpreted the meaning 
* of his surprise. 

“It’s my birthday!” was the girlish announcement 
that followed her fun-provoking laugh. “It’s my 

9 


10 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

birthday—and I’m twenty-two—and my name is 
Charmian Reemy. Mrs . Charmian Reemy, I suppose 
it is my duty to inform you. Aren’t you coming in, 
Dr. Shonto?” 

At last the doctor’s hat was in his hand, and Andy 
Jerome, standing just behind him and equally amazed, 
removed his too. 

Shonto was mumbling something about the unex¬ 
pected pleasure of meeting a girl in the wilderness who 
knew his name while Andy followed him inside. The 
girl hurried on before them and was arranging com¬ 
fortable thong-bottom chairs before a huge stone fire¬ 
place. Skins and bright-coloured Navajo rugs half 
covered the puncheon floor. Dainty, inexpensive cur¬ 
tains hung at the windows. Deer antlers and enlarged 
photographs of wildwood scenes broke the solemnity 
of the dark log walls. 

Before the fireplace another woman bent and cooked 
in a Dutch oven on red coals raked one side from the 
roaring fire of fir wood. 

“This is Mary Temple, my companion, nurse, cook, 
and adviser in all matters pertaining to my general 
welfare,” announced the girl. “I love her companion¬ 
ship, appreciate her nursing, rave over her cooking, 
and ignore her advice entirely. Mary Temple, this 
is Dr. Inman Shonto, lost in the woods with a friend 
whom I have not given him time to introduce.” 

Once more the bombarded doctor stood by his guns, 
bowed gravely to middle-aged Mary Temple—who 
smiled over her lean shoulder but continued to hover 
her Dutch oven—then turned to Andy. 


EL TRONO DE TOLERANCIA 


r i 


“Mrs. Reemy, permit me,” he said. “My friend, 
Andrew Jerome.” 

“Mr. Jerome,” laughed the girl, extending her hand, 
“I am happy to welcome you to my birthday party.” 
Then, with one of her amazingly swift movements, she 
swung about to the physician. “And you, Dr. Shonto, 
are to be the guest of honour—and you are going to 
tell us all about glands and things like that.” 

“It is absolutely impossible,” Dr. Shonto returned 
gallantly, “that I could have met you and forgotten 
you, Mrs. Reemy.” 

“Very well spoken, Doctor,” she retorted, with a. 
smile that twisted up a trifle at one corner of her 
mouth. “But I have heard that before. One would 
expect Dr. Inman Shonto, renowned gland specialist, 
to say something more original. There—I’m being" 
impolite again! (Beat you to it that time, didn’t I, 
Mary Temple !) But you are pardoned for a common¬ 
place speech, Doctor. It must have stunned you not 
a little to come upon a dolled-up flapper out here in- 
the forest. I’ll relieve your mind instantly. We have" 
never met before. But I have read about you for 
years. And this morning, when I was down at Love- 
joy’s for my mail—and incidentally a big piece of 
venison which I hadn’t expected to be given me—I saw 
you and Mr. Jerome walking up the road with your 
guns. I inquired about you, and was told that the emi¬ 
nent Dr. Shonto and his friend Mr. Jerome, of Los: 
Angeles, were in our midst. And, though I saw only 
your backs this morning, those shoulders of yours, 
Doctor, are as wide when seen from the front as from 


12 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

the rear. And when I saw them threatening to push 
to right and left the uprights of my door frame, I 
thought Samson was about to bring the house down 
on us two Philistines. For that’s what we are, gentle¬ 
men—outlawed Philistines. And this is the house 
called El Trono de Tolerancia—which in Spanish is 
equivalent to The Throne of Tolerance. All right, 
Mary Temple—I see your shoulders quivering! I’ll 
stop right now and let somebody else get in a word. 
But since I already know the doctor and his friend— 
and a great deal about the doctor that he doesn’t sus¬ 
pect—doesn’t it stand to reason that they ought to 
hear about us before sitting down to my birthday din¬ 
ner?” 

“You oughtn’t to’ve called yourself a flapper,” said 
the kneeling Mary Temple, showing one fire-crimsoned 
cheek. 

With her ready laughter, which was hearty and 
whole-souled without a suggestion of boisterousness, 
Mrs. Charmian Reemy seated herself. Then Andy and 
Doctor Shonto found seats one on either side of her. 

“This is certainly a refreshing experience, Mrs. 
Reemy,” were the younger man’s first words since ac¬ 
knowledging his introduction to her. 

“Pm glad you think so,” she replied. “I dearly 
love to m^p life refreshing for folks. For myself as 
well. I thought it would be refreshing fun to dress 
to-night, with only Mary Temple and me ’way out here 
in the woods. It was just a freakish whim of mine. 
I get ’em frequently. Don’t I, Mary Temple?” 

The firelight showed red through one of Mary Tern- 


EL TRONO DE TOLERANCIA 


13 

pie’s thin ears as she half turned her head, doubtless 
to administer a reproof, and executed “eyes front” 
again when she changed her mind. 

“I had no idea at the time, though, that two dis¬ 
tressed gentlemen were to come to my party and ad¬ 
mire me and my table decorations.” 

She swept a white arm in the direction of a table at 
one side of the large room, on which were a spotless 
cloth, china and silver, and an earth-sweet centerpiece 
of ferns and California holly berries. 

“Now I’ll tell you who I am, so that you will be 
better able to celebrate properly with me—and then 
for the glands. I’m dying to learn all about glands. 
Could you rejuvenate me, Doctor Shonto? Now’s 
your chance for that pretty birthday speech!” 

“I think,” said Shonto, with his grave smile, “that 
you, Mrs. Reemy, are a far more successful re- 
juvenator right now than I shall ever be. I’ve sloughed 
off live years since entering your door.” 

“Better! That was extremely well done. And now 
let’s get down to business: 

“I am Charmian Reemy, aged twenty-two to-day. 
I was born in San Francisco, and live there now. When 
I was seventeen I was married to Walter J. Reemy, a 
mining man from Alaska. To be absolutely frank, 
that marriage was the result of a plot by my father 
and mother to marry me off to a wealthy man. And I 
was too young and pliable to put up a decent fight. 

“I went to Alaska with my husband, where we lived 
two years. He was killed in a gambling game, and his 
will left everything to me. I sold out his Alaska mining 


i 4 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

property and returned to the United States, where I 
lived with my parents in San Francisco until both were 
taken away in the recent flu epidemic. 

“Since then I have been alone except for Mary Tem¬ 
ple, who was with me in Alaska. She had returned to 
San Francisco with me after Walter’s death. So when 
I was left entirely alone again I hunted her up, and she 
lias been my companion and housekeeper ever since. 

“When I was little I was what is generally called a 
misunderstood child. Whether that was true or not I 
can’t say, but I know that, almost from my earliest 
remembrance, my home life was unpleasant. My par¬ 
ents were plodders in the footsteps of Tradition. At 
an early age I showed radical tendencies. 

“I am a radical to-day. I am intolerant of all the 
intolerance of this generation of false prophets. I 
come up here to forget man’s stupidity. And I call my 
retreat in the big-timber country The Throne of Toler¬ 
ance. Wait until to-morrow morning. Then, if you 
can look from those west windows and be intolerant 
of anything or anybody, you don’t belong to my clan. 

“I make pilgrimage to El Trono de Tolerancia 
whenever I begin to choke up down in San Francisco. 
Mary Temple and I live simply up here in the woods 
until the suffocation passes, then we return to the city 
—and boredom. I learned to love the outdoors up in 
Alaska. And sometime I’m going on a great adven¬ 
ture. I’m going to some far-off place where man never 
before has set his foot. And maybe I shan’t come 
back. 

“That’s about all there is to be told about me. Ex- 


EL TRONO DE TOLERANCIA i$ 

cept that I never intend to marry again. Oh, yes!— 
and I always call Mary Temple Mary Temple. If I 
were to call her Mary it would sound disrespectful 
from one so much younger than she is. If I called her 
Miss Temple it would sound stiff and throw a wet 
blanket over our comradeship. And I’m too human, 
and I hope too genuine, to ape high society and call 
her Temple. So she’s Mary Temple to me, and every¬ 
thing seems to move smoothly. Now I’m through— 
positively through. Now tell me about the glands, 
Doctor Shonto.” 

Shonto was smiling in quiet amusement. He could 
not quite make out this girl. Shonto was very much 
a radical himself, and he believed that she knew it. 
But he considered her too young to hold such a pessi¬ 
mistic outlook on life as she had hinted at. That she 
was ready to worship him because of his reputation 
as a specialist in gland secretions seemed apparent. 
The doctor had been fawned upon by many women 
intellectually inclined, and they had nauseated him im¬ 
measurably. He admired Charmian Reemy for her 
physical charm, her vivacity, and her good-fellowship; 
but he was experienced and therefore wary. 

But he was saved for the present from committing* 
himself by Mary Temple, who had completed her 
ministrations over the Dutch oven, and had carried the 
result to the table. 

“Dinner’s ready,” she announced unceremoniously. 

Whereupon Charmian rose and seated her guests. 

Dr. Shonto was not a little puzzled at the behaviour 
of his friend. Andy Jerome had spoken to Mrs. Reemy 


16 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


but once since their entrance into her home, aside from 
muttering her name when the doctor had introduced 
him. It was true that their hostess had done most of 
the talking herself, but Shonto had managed to get in 
a word edgewise now and then. While Andy had 
showed little or no inclination to talk at all. 

For the most part he had sat and almost stared at 
her, as if never before had he seen a beautiful girl in 
an evening gown. The doctor knew that this was far 
from the case, and that Andy ordinarily was quick to 
respond to pretty women. He usually could hold his 
own with them, too. But it seemed that Charmian 
Reemy had fairly swept him off his feet. Shonto felt 
a slight twinge of regret. He found that he himself 
was rather impressed by this frank, free-spoken girl of 
the woods and the cities. 

Mary Temple occupied the foot of the table, where 
she sat stiffly and with an austere mien, and attended 
to the greater part of the serving. They were no more 
than seated when Charmian Reemy again began beg¬ 
ging the gland specialist to initiate her into the mys¬ 
teries of his witchcraft. But Shonto, seeking an avenue 
of escape, hit upon a topic that at once changed her 
thoughts into another, though no less interesting, 
channel. 

“You say, Mrs. Reemy,” he began, “that you are 
contemplating going off for a big adventure some day. 
If you haven’t anything definite in mind, I’d like to 
offer a suggestion. How would you like to make an 
attempt to explore a lost valley—a forgotten valley— 
in reality, an undiscovered valley?” 


EL TRONO DE TOLERANCIA 


i7 


“What?” Her dark eyes were sparkling. 

“Just that. Andy and I heard about it the other 
day. And on the way to this undiscovered valley you 
may hunt for opals. Of course, a fellow may hunt for 
opals anywhere he chooses. But in this case he may 
do so with reasonable hopes of success.” 

“Do you mean that, Doctor Shonto?” 

“Absolutely. But I have only the story of a couple 
of prospectors, one of whom has been an old-time opal 
miner in Australia. They are both intelligent men, 
and their story rang true.” 

“Please let’s hear all about it!” begged Charmian. 
“An undiscovered valley! How can it be undiscovered 
when these prospectors know about it? And opals! 
You’ve lured me away from glands for the present, 
Doctor. Give us the yarn!” 


/ 


CHAPTER III 

THE PROSPECTOR’S STORY 

IT TELL,” began Dr. Shonto reflectively, “Andy 
\ V and I were in our camp on the North Fork 
of the Lizard, about two and a half miles 
from Lovejoy’s place. Two men came along with pack 
burros, bound up into the Catfish Country—if you know 
where that is.” 

Charmian nodded eagerly. 

“They stopped, and as lunch was about ready we 
Invited them to eat with us. 

“They called themselves Smith Morley and Omar 
Leach. They are both middle-aged men and seem to 
have had a great deal of experience at prospecting. 

“Well, Andy and I are old-time ramblers ourselves. 
We spend a great deal of time together in the out- 
lands, mostly just loafing around and enjoying camp 
life and the scenery. We were able to talk with the pair 
about many things of interest to both factions. One 
thing led to another, and finally Smith Morley men¬ 
tioned that he had hunted for opals with a camel train 
in Australia. We at once became interested and asked 
him all about the life. It is vastly entertaining, from 
his account. 

“Then he told us of the California opals, but when 
Andy asked if he ever found any in this state he grew 

reticent. Finally, however, when he learned that both 

18 


THE PROSPECTOR’S STORY 


19 

of us were men of some means, he told us about cer¬ 
tain opal claims that he and his partner had filed on 
this year, and which they would be obliged to lose 
because they were financially unable to get into the coun¬ 
try and do their assessment work. 

“They offered to sell the claims to us, and to take 
us to them and establish us if we would defray the ex¬ 
penses. Morley showed us one of the handsomest opals 
I have ever seen. Its fire was simply wonderful—I’d 
never before seen anything to equal it. 

“We weren’t greatly interested, however, until they 
mentioned the undiscovered valley. While Andy has 
nothing much to occupy his time, I have my investiga¬ 
tions to carry on and a great deal of laboratory work, 
though I am not practising medicine regularly. Any¬ 
way, we didn’t want to go into the opal-mining game. 
But, as I said, the undiscovered valley enticed us, and 
we wanted to know all about it. 

“The opal claims are on the desert in what is called 
the Shinbone Country. It is very difficult to get to 
them, and the soft, deep sand makes automobiles a 
failure. One must use horses and pack burros, and at 
best the water supply is dangerously short. However, 
the undiscovered valley is something like thirty miles 
beyond the desert, in the mountains, at an elevation of 
perhaps eight thousand feet. 

“From the description they gave us, those who 
know of its existence say that it is about thirteen miles 
long by seven or eight miles in width. It is surrounded 
by high peaks upon which the snow lies for almost the 
entire year. These peaks are said to be straight up 


20 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

and down, to use Morley’s phrase, and heavily tim¬ 
bered up to the snow-line. The valley is therefore like 
the crater of an extinct volcano, and many claim that 
it is just that. To reach the timbered section, one 
must cross miles and miles of country covered with the 
densest chaparral. He must either cut his way through 
it with a knife and an ax or crawl on all fours. This 
stretch is waterless, and exposed to the sunny side of 
steep mountains, where the heat beats down unmerci¬ 
fully. 

“But assuming that a fellow gets through this 
chaparral country, he has yet to scale those grim peaks 
which Morley calls straight up and down. And if he 
reaches the summit, he then will be obliged to get down 
into the valley, perhaps several thousand feet in depth. 

“The valley was discovered some years ago by a 
forest ranger. He had climbed to a high peak about 
sixteen miles distant from it, and assumed that, even 
then, he was on ground where no man of to-day, at 
least, had ever stood before. He suffered a great deal 
on that trip, but determination kept up his courage 
and he finally reached the goal for which he had set 
out. And from the summit of that peak he glimpsed 
the unexplored valley. 

“It seems strange that, in this day and age, such a 
valley could remain unknown. But such seems to be 
the case. Andy and I have found in our travels over 
the state that there are vast stretches of forest land 
where a white man has probably never set his foot. 
But in almost every case, there was nothing to draw 
him. This instance is different. 


21 


THE PROSPECTOR’S STORY 

‘‘Fortunately the ranger had a telescope with him, 
and was able to see a portion of the valley between 
two of the peaks that surround it. He circulated the 
report that the valley is wooded, and that a fair-sized 
river flows down the centre of it. He saw great quan¬ 
tities of meadow land, and on it animals were grazing, 
but he could not determine what they were. Altogether 
the valley presented a pleasing outlook, and he made up 
his mind to explore it. 

“He made many trips, alone and with friends, which 
occupied months. They strove to get at that valley 
from every angle, and one man lost his life in the at¬ 
tempt. Finally they were obliged to give it up, though 
they estimated that they had approached to within 
three miles of their goal. So throughout the Shinbone 
Country the undiscovered valley is well known to be in 
existence, but that’s the end of it. The country is 
thinly populated, of course, and the people who live 
there mind their own business pretty well and are com¬ 
pletely out of touch with the outside world. And thus 
it transpires that the unexplored valley is not generally 
known to be in existence. 

“One of the most remarkable features concerning it 
is the river that flows through it. All rivers in this 
country flow in a general westerly direction, of course, 
toward the Pacific Ocean. Not so the river that flows 
through the undiscovered valley. It runs due east, ac¬ 
cording to the ranger, though that may mean much or 
nothing at all, for it may change to a westward course 
farther on. 

“But the question is, where does it come out of the 


22 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

valley? All of the rivers and streams in that section 
are known and named. No one can account for a river 
without a name, flowing toward the coast on the west 
side of the range. But farther back in the mountains, 
estimated at about ten miles from the peaks that sur¬ 
round the undiscovered valley, there is what is known as 
a lost river. In fact, it is called Lost River. 

“The source of Lost River is known. It rises from 
springs high up in the range, and is fed by other 
springs as it flows westward and gathers width. Then, 
about ten miles from the high peaks, it vanishes—is 
swallowed up by the earth in a mountain meadow. It 
is not just soaked up by the ground, but plunges into a 
cave in the side of a hill. And, so far as anybody 
knows, that is the end of it. 

“Of course, it is assumed that this river runs under¬ 
ground from that point and eventually reaches the un¬ 
discovered valley, where it rises again and flows se¬ 
renely across the valley—quite a large stream, it seems 
—and then vanishes once more. And for the re¬ 
mainder of its course to the sea, it may be any one of 
the known rivers in the Shinbone Country. It proba¬ 
bly would not pop up out of the ground in the lowlands 
so abruptly as it plunges into the cave in the high alti¬ 
tudes. It may rise again as springs—seep up from the 
soil in a natural way. Or its waters may separate 
during their underground journey after leaving the un¬ 
explored valley, and they may form two or more 
streams in the lowlands. 

“So that’s about all there is to be said about the 
undiscovered valley—or perhaps the unexplored valley 


THE PROSPECTOR’S STORY 23 

would be more proper—and the river that loses itself 
in the ground. Andy and I grew quite excited over it, 
but when we tried to pump Morley and Leach to find 
out the location of the Shinbone Country they refused 
to come across. Shinbone is a local name, it seems, 
and few besides the people who live there know it as 
such. We don’t even know what county it is in. Leach 
and Morley, however, promised to tell us all about it 
and to take us to it, provided we would interest our¬ 
selves in their opal claims. So, as we didn’t care to 
do that, we let the matter slide.” 

Charmian Reemy had forgotten her dinner and was 
resting her bare elbows on the table, nesting her chin 
in her hands. Her dark eyes were fixed on Inman 
Shonto. And Andy’s eyes were fixed on her. 

“Where,” she asked in a low voice, “are Morley 
and Leach now?” 

“Still on their way to the Catfish Country, I sup¬ 
pose,” Shonto replied. 

“When was it that they were in your camp?” 

“Day before yesterday, about noon—wasn’t it, 
Andy?” 

Andy Jerome nodded absently. 

“Then they can’t have reached the Catfish Country 
yet,” said Charmian. “I’m going after them to-mor¬ 
row morning. Now, for the first time in my life, I 
wish I had a car. I could travel in it as far as Jorny 
Springs, and there I could get a saddle horse and run 
them down before they get into the wilderness.” 

“Do you really want to go after opals and the un¬ 
explored valley?” asked Andy suddenly. 


24 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

She turned her dark eyes on him. “I want to more 
than anything else I’ve ever wanted to do,” she told 
him. 

“Then you can have my car to-morrow morning. 
And, if you’ll let me, I’ll go with you after Leach and 
Morley. And if we find them, and can come to terms 
with them, I’ll—I’ll— Well, if we can arrange mat¬ 
ters to suit you, I’d like to go with you to the Shinbone 
Country.” 

For a short time they gazed into each other’s eyes. 
Andy Jerome’s lips were parted, and Shonto noted the 
quick rise and fall of his breast. Then a slight flush 
covered Charmian Reemy’s cheeks, and her long, dark 
lashes hid her eyes. 

“If we can arrange matters,” she said, “I’d—I’d be 
glad to have you, Mr. Jerome.” 

Then, with another pang, Dr. Inman Shonto inter¬ 
preted the strange silence that had existed between 
these two. It was the result of an odd embarrassment 
that both had felt since they first clasped hands. It 
was love at first sight between them, and they were 
backward and afraid of each other. 

The eyes of both now were lowered. Shonto glanced 
quickly at Mary Temple. Her gaunt face was set in 
hard lines. She knew, and she disapproved—at least 
until she knew more about this handsome young man 
who had invaded their quiet retreat. 

And Shonto— Well, Shonto disapproved, too. 
Shonto was far older than Andy—too old, perhaps, to 
think of loving a woman of Charmian Reemy’s age. 
But he put all this behind him. If Andy and Charmian 


THE PROSPECTOR’S STORY 


25 

were going in search of the unexplored valley, he 
meant to go along. Several years her senior though he 
knew himself to be, Shonto believed that he was the 
man for a woman like Charmian Reemy rather than 
Andy Jerome. Anyway, he meant to know more about 
her. It would not do for Andy to win her away from 
him if she was what he believed her to be. Yes, Shonto 
would go along, and his life’s work could go hang, 
for all he cared. Until he knew the truth about Char¬ 
mian Reemy, at any rate. 

“We could find it easily, I guess, in an airplane,” 
Andy suggested. 

“An airplane!” scoffed the girl. “Not I! I hate 
airplanes—I hate anything mechanical. I’ll find that 
valley as my forefathers would have found it, or I’ll 
stay away. And I must think up an appropriate name 
for it. Doctor Shonto seems undecided between ‘the 
undiscovered valley’ and ‘the unexplored valley.’ 
Neither is romantic enough. I’ll think up a name 
before morning. I like to name things. And I’m go¬ 
ing, really—if we can overtake Leach and Morley. Do 
you approve, Mary Temple?” 

“No!” snapped Mary Temple, and passed the veni¬ 
son to Andy with jerky hospitality. 


CHAPTER IV 


A MEMBER OF THE CLAN 

D R. INMAN SHONTO, always an early riser, 
was the first one stirring at El Trono de 
Tolerancia the following morning. He left the 
log house by the door through which he had entered 
it the night before, and gazed off into the timber land 
to the east, through which Andy and he had reached 
the place. He turned and walked around the cabin, and 
then he realized what Charmian Reemy had meant 
when she stated that it was next to impossible for one 
to be intolerant when he looked from her home to the 
west. 

The cabin was set on a gigantic rock that overhung 
the brow of the mountain. A metal railing had been 
erected along the edge of the rock to prevent the un¬ 
wary from plunging down at least forty feet to the 
rock’s massive base. From the base the land sloped 
off sharply for perhaps half a mile. And beyond that 
it continued to slope more gently to level wooded 
stretches below. The great forest over which one 
looked would have seemed endless were it not for the 
broad Pacific in the far distance, which began at the 
end of the mass of green and rolled on to the uttermost 
ends of the earth. 

Never in his life had the nature-loving man seen a 

more gorgeous picture. It seemed that the very world 

26 


A MEMBER OF THE CLAN 27 

was laid out for him to gaze upon from that gaunt 
pinnacle. He stepped to the iron rail, cold and dewy, 
grasped it in his strong, lean hands, and stood there, 
bareheaded, reverent. 

“Do you feel tolerant of all mankind now, Doctor?” 
came a low voice at his elbow. 

Shonto wheeled about, startled, as if awakened from 
a dream. Charmian Reemy stood beside him, dressed 
in a man’s flannel shirt, a divided whipcord skirt, and 
high-laced boots. She had combed her dark brown hair, 
but had not stopped to do it up. It fell in a cataract, 
gleaming bronze-gold with the rays of the early morn¬ 
ing sun behind her, almost to her knees. She was 
smiling that smile which lifted one corner of her mouth 
in a whimsical little twist. 

“I am tolerant of all mankind,” said the doctor seri¬ 
ously. “But now that you have come, I don’t know 
whether to look at you or—that.” And he pointed 
over the mysterious forest to the sea, which seemed to 
stand upright before him as if painted on a huge canvas. 

“Do you think I’m pretty?” 

“I know it—you’re almost beautiful.” 

“But that,” she said, pointing over the forest, “is 
not only beautiful but mighty—stupendous. You’d 
better look at that, Doctor.” 

“The redwood forests are mighty,” he told her, “but 
they are no more beautiful than the redwood lily that 
hides in the perpetual shade they cast. One cannot say 
that the giant redwood tree is more wonderful than the 
slender lily at its feet. Both are the product of na¬ 
ture’s mysterious laboratory. And you are, too.” 


28, 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


“Speaking of tolerance,” she went on, without com¬ 
ment upon his comparison, “don’t you think that we 
could all be more tolerant of others if we only would 
look at every one we meet as a distinct product of na¬ 
ture? I mean this: We say, ‘Here is a redwood tree. 
Isn’t it magnificent?’ Or, ‘Here is a redwood lily. 
Doesn’t it smell sweet?’ Or, ‘Here is a buckthorn 
bush. Aren’t its spines prickly?’ We never think of 
comparing them. We would not say, ‘This redwood 
lily is puny compared with a redwood tree.’ Or, ‘This 
buckthorn bush is so prickly. I don’t think nearly so 
much of it as I do of the whitethorn bush, which has 
beautiful flowers and is soft to the touch.’ Wouldn’t 
that sound ridiculous! We accept all things in nature 
as they are, except man. For man we have set a 
standard, and he must live up to it or be forever dis¬ 
pleasing to us. I wonder if you know what I’m talking 
about.” 

“I think I understand you perfectly,” replied Shonto. 
“And I believe that you are entirely right. In fact, my 
life’s work is based on what you have just expressed.” 

“The glands?” she asked eagerly. 

“Yes.” 

“Won’t you please explain? We have lots of time. 
None of the others are up yet.” 

Dr. Shonto was tempted. “It is my firm belief,” he 
said, “that man’s daily life—all that he does and all 
that he is—depends almost entirely upon his gland 
secretions. His height, his attitude toward others, the 
colour of his complexion, his strength or weakness, his 
ability or lack of ability—all this, and much more, is 


A MEMBER OF THE CLAN 29 

controlled by his glands, or their secretions. The 
glands are collections of cells which make substances 
that bring about a specific effect on the economy of the 
body. The microscope proves that every gland is a 
chemical factory, and the product of these factories 
is their secretions. For instance, the sweat glands 
manufacture perspiration, the lachrymal glands manu¬ 
facture tears. 

“The thyroid gland—the most interesting of all— 
consists of two dark-red masses in the neck, above the 
windpipe, and near the larynx. A narrow strip of the 
same tissue connects them. The secretion of the 
thyroid glands is called thyroxin, and it contains a rela¬ 
tively high per cent of iodine. The more thyroid a 
person has the faster does he live. An abundance of 
thyroid causes one to feel, sense, and think more 
quickly. The less he has the slower will be his mental 
processes. And the thyroid gland puts iodine into our 
blood. 

“Sea water, you know, contains iodine. And as 
man was originally a creature of the sea, iodine is neces¬ 
sary to his existence. There is little or no iodine in 
the food we eat, so, when man became a land animal, 
Nature gave him the thyroid gland to supply him with 
this necessary element. In certain parts of the world 
—in high altitudes and fresh-water regions—the water 
does not contain enough iodine. In such regions goiter 
is prevalent. 

“To sum up very briefly the workings of the thyroid 
gland, life is worth while when it is sufficiently active; 
and when it is not, life is a burden to the unfortunate 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


30 

individual so affected. It is my belief, then, that when 
we come to know more about the glands we will realize 
that man is regulated by them. Then we will be more 
tolerant, won’t we?—and seek to rectify the errors 
rather than condemn promiscuously? 

“It would be next to impossible for me to tell you all 
that has been discovered about the functions of the 
various glands. There are the thyroids, the pituitary, 
the adrenals, the pineal, the thymus, the interstitial, 
the parathyroids, and the pancreas to be dealt with; 
but for you and me the thyroids are by far the most 
important. And I regret to say that I am not in a 
position to go into the matter thoroughly with you at 
this time.” 

“But you haven’t told me anything!” she expostu¬ 
lated. 

He looked at her gravely. “I really do not feel 
free to discuss the subject,” he said. “I hope you’)! 
pardon me.” 

Her dark eyes showed a trace of embarrassment as 
she turned them upon his face. “I’m sorry,” she said. 
“I didn’t mean to intrude. I guess it was stupid of me 
to ask a specialist to disclose his secrets to me.” 

“It’s not that,” he told her. “But there is a reason 
why I must refrain from discussing this subject with 
you just now. Perhaps at some later date I shall find 
it possible to go into the matter more fully. And you 
don t need to apologize. I have no professional se¬ 
crets. But, as I said, for a rather strange reason, I 
must not be the one to initiate you into the mysteries 
of the gland secretions, and what science has accom- 


A MEMBER OF THE CLAN 31 

plished in the way of treating patients who are lacking 
in these secretions. I’m extremely sorry, Mrs. Reemy, 
for I must confess that, ordinarily, I like to talk about 
my work.” 

She continued to gaze at him, completely mystified; 
then she showed her good breeding by dropping the 
subject entirely. 

“I have thought up a name for the undiscovered 
valley,” she announced. 

“Good! Let’s have it.” 

“The Valley of Arcana.” 

Dr. Shonto lifted his scanty eyebrows. “Arcana,” 
he repeated. “That sounds familiar. Let me paw 
through my vocabulary. . . . I’ve got it. ‘Arcanum’ is 
the singular, isn’t it? And it means something hidden 
from ordinary men. In medicine it means a great 
secret remedy—a panacea. But you use it in the first 
sense—a mystery. Or in the plural, ‘arcana’—mys¬ 
teries. The Valley of Mysteries. Good! A dandy!” 

“Give Webster the credit,” she said demurelv. “I 
stumbled upon the word by accident last night, browsing 
through the dictionary in search of something new. 
I’m surprised, and a little piqued, that you knew the 
meaning. I thought I was springing something on 
you.” 

She turned her head quickly as she spoke, and once 
more the doctor saw the pink creep into her cheeks. 

“Mr. Jerome is up,” she said, “and is coming around 
the house to find us. Don’t say anything. I mean, 
don’t call his attention to that.” She pointed over the 
glistening forest to the sea once more. “I want to see 


32 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

how he reacts to it when he steps up here and finds it 
suddenly stretched out before him.” 

“I’d like to ask you a question,” the doctor declared 
quickly. “Do you really intend to go to the Shinbone 
Country?” 

“Why, certainly—if everything turns out all right.” 

“When?” 

“Right away.” 

“But it is rather late in the season for such an 
undertaking, isn’t it? Winter is almost upon us.” 

“But doesn’t the assessment work have to be done on 
the opal mines immediately in order to hold them?” 

“I’d forgotten about that,” said Shonto. 

And then came Andy’s “Good morning,” as he 
stepped to the rail beside Charmian and caught his first 
glimpse of the stupendous scene below him. 

“Lord!” he breathed. “Oh, Lord! Look at that!” 

And Charmian Reemy smiled. Andy Jerome had 
shown himself to be a member of her clan. 


CHAPTER V 

THE CONFERENCE AT JORNY SPRINGS 

I T was seven o’clock in the morning when Andy 
Jerome set off on Charmian Reemy’s gray saddler 
for his camp. A trail led direct from El Trono 
de Tolerancia to the county road, and once upon it 
Andy could not possibly miss the way. He was to 
leave the horse at Lovejoy’s, a wilderness resort, and 
continue on afoot to camp. There he would get his 
big touring car and drive back to a point in the county 
road opposite Charmian’s home. She and the doctor 
were to travel after him afoot and meet him there. 
And Mary Temple had flatly refused to allow Char¬ 
mian to “go traipsin’ off with a couple o’ strange men 
the Lord knew where,” so she had truculently consti¬ 
tuted herself one of the party. 

Andy met the trio about noon. Dr. Shonto took the 
seat in the tonneau with the stern-faced Mary Temple, 
and Charmian rode in front with Andy. The hand¬ 
some big car purred along through the solemn red¬ 
woods, following the level valley which paralleled the 
coast, with a range of wooded mountains between. 
Gray squirrels scurried across the narrow road, to 
scamper up lofty trees and bark at them mockingly. 
The streams that they crossed were riotous and roared 
about the huge boulders in their courses. The sun 

33 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


34 

scarcely penetrated the dark avenues of the forest. 
Huckleberry bushes lined the road, the berries ripe and 
coloured like grapes. 

They estimated that the prospectors would not make 
over twenty miles a day with their slow-moving burros, 
and maybe less. It was about fifty miles from the 
North Fork of the Lizard to the outskirts of the Cat¬ 
fish Country; so, as they were virtually two days and 
a half behind the men, Andy pushed the big car at every 
opportunity. But the road was so narrow, and there 
were so many abrupt turns in it, made necessary by 
gigantic trees, that the driver averaged little better 
than fifteen miles an hour. 

But they reached Jorny Springs, at the gateway to 
the Catfish Country, before four o’clock that after¬ 
noon. And there, to their great satisfaction, they 
found the prospectors in camp. One of the burros had 
gone lame on them, and they were resting the little 
animal before beginning the rough journey into the 
wilds that lay before them. 

Jorny Springs was a backwoods resort conducted by 
an old man and his wife. They bottled the effervescent 
water that bubbled up in a dozen places from the 
ground, and shipped it to San Francisco, where it was 
known in cafes and soft-drink establishments as Jorny 
Water. Every house in that country was, on occasion, 
a hotel and summer resort, and such places were known 
as stations. 

Smith Morley and Omar Leach were camped under 
the big trees by one of the springs. Shonto went over 
and talked with them a little, while Charmian and 


THE CONFERENCE AT JORNY SPRINGS 35 

Andy ordered lunch at the house. The doctor returned 
to them before lunch was ready and made his report 
of the preliminary conference. 

“They are willing enough to drop their present pros¬ 
pecting project right now,” he began. “They have 
gold claims up in the Catfish Country, but their im¬ 
portance is more or less problematical. However, they 
had enough capital to make this trip, they say, but 
could not rake up enough for the Shinbone expedition. 
So they will be only too glad to deal with us.” 

“‘What do they want?” asked Charmian. 

“I didn’t go into that with them,” replied Shonto. 
“But I imagine they prefer to sell the claims outright 
rather than to take in partners. If you’ll accept my 
advice, Mrs. Reemy, you’ll be mighty careful what 
kind of a deal you make with these boys. They may 
be all right, and their claims may be all that they say, 
but, somehow or other, I don’t just fancy their looks.” 

“The one you pointed out to me as Morley,” said 
Charmian, “is a delightful looking villain. I like to 
deal with villains. That is, I think I should. I’ve 
never had an opportunity. I do hope they try to put 
something over on us.” 

Shonto and Andy laughed heartily at this, but the 
austere Mary Temple tightened her thin lips and 
glared at the young widow. 

“Mary Temple refuses to let me have any fun in 
life,” said Charmian. “She doesn’t understand my 
romantic and adventuresome nature in the least. She 
wants everything to move along smoothly. Well, 
everything has always moved entirely too smoothly to 


36 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

suit me. I want a few obstacles set in my path. I 
want to have things happen to me. I want to live!” 

After lunch the quartette approached the pros¬ 
pectors. Dr. Shonto introduced Charmian and Mary 
Temple, and all found seats on stones or logs or filled 
pack-bags. 

Charmian was eying the two men closely. 

Smith Morley was dark and tall, and his features 
were fine except for the black eyes, which were set too 
close together. Omar Leach was older and heavier, 
with a sprinkling of grey in his hair. His face was 
full and inclined to be red. He looked to be a power¬ 
ful man. 

When they spoke Charmian was surprised. Both 
used good, everyday English, and Morley’s account of 
his opal seeking in Australia was intensely interesting 
and fired her imagination. They talked for half an 
hour before Morley spoke of the matter that had 
brought them together. And when he did so he made 
the plain statement that the opal claims in the Shin¬ 
bone Country were for sale, on a cash basis, and that 
he and Leach would take the others to them, prove 
their value, and do anything in reason to establish 
them. 

“And how much do you ask for the claims?” asked 
the girl. 

“Fifty thousand dollars,” was Morley’s prompt 
reply. 

Before she could express surprise at the amount, or 
make any comment whatever, Smith Morley reached 
into an inner pocket of his canvas coat and took out 


THE CONFERENCE AT JORNY SPRINGS 37 

a wad of tissue paper. He deliberately unfolded it, 
and dropped seven large opals into the girl’s hand. 

‘“Look ’em over,” he invited. “They all came from 
our claims. And there are plenty more like them to 
be found.” 

“They’re beautiful,” admitted Charmian, turning a 
stone this way and that so that it might catch the light 
filtering down through the treetops. “But I can’t 
understand why, if you can find gems like these, it 
doesn’t pay you to work the claims and make them 
defray their own expenses.” 

“We could do it if we were there,” put in Omar 
Leach. “But we’re practically broke, and it’s a long, 
expensive trip to the Shinbone Country.” 

“Then why don’t you sell these?” she asked, rat¬ 
tling the opals in her hand. 

“We’ve kept them to show prospective buyers,” ex¬ 
plained Morley. “We tried all summer to interest 
somebody, and that’s one reason why we’re so short of 
funds. Showing the gems and trying to induce some¬ 
body to take hold caused us to lose lots of time, when 
we ought to have been working for our winter’s grub¬ 
stake. When we saw that our efforts were a failure, 
we worked a little and got together a small grubstake 
for this trip into the Catfish Country. Our placer 
claims up in there are pretty good, and we can some¬ 
times pan out as high as twenty-five dollars a day. 
It’s seldom that we run less than ten dollars. So we 
thought we could get up there and pan enough to get 
us down into the Shinbone Country before winter set 
in. Then we could rush things and finish our assess- 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


38 

ment work before the end of the year. But if a person 
had money, Mrs. Reemy, he could get down there at 
once and hire half a dozen men to finish the work in 
short order. Then he could sit pretty until spring, 
provided he didn’t care to winter it in the Shinbone 
Country and dig for opals.” 

“You’ll pardon me for what may seem to be an 
insolent question,” said the girl, “but how do I know 
that you did not bring these opals from Australia?” 

Smith Morley laughed and shrugged. “You have 
every right to look into the matter from every angle,” 
he exonerated her. “We want you to be cautious and 
investigate thoroughly. That’s business, Mrs. Reemy. 
Of course we can’t prove to you now that those stones 
didn’t come from Australia, or that they did come 
from our claims. But we can show you when you 
reach the Shinbone Country.” 

“When can you start?” 

“Just as soon as we can make arrangements with 
somebody to take care of our outfit, Mrs. Reemy. 
We can put the burros on pasture here at Jorny 
Springs, I guess, and cache the outfit. Unless it would 
be more advisable to take the outfit along. I have an 
idea we’ll be ready to hit the trail to-morrow.” 

“And how do we go?” 

“Well, by train, if you prefer. Or if we had a 
couple of machines like the one you drove here in—” 

“We have two,” put in Dr. Shonto briefly. 

Both Charmian and Andy Jerome glanced at him 
curiously. 


THE CONFERENCE AT JORNY SPRINGS 39 

“Why, you’re not going along, are you, Doctor?” 
asked the girl. 

“If I’m welcome, I am,” he stated. 

“Why, of course you’re welcome!” cried Andy. 
“But—but I’m surprised, Doctor.” 

“Don’t let it affect you too seriously, Andy,” said 
Shonto, with his quiet smile. “Don’t you suppose that 
I am interested in a project like this one?” 

“But you weren’t the other day,” his friend pointed 
out. 

“The other day is not to-day,” said the doctor. “In 
other words, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll be frank. I 
wouldn’t consider going at all if Mrs. Reemy weren’t 
taking the matter up. I think she’ll need my mature 
judgment in many things; and I mean to go along— 
if she wants me to—and give her the benefit of it.” 

“Nothing would delight me more than to have you 
go, Doctor,” Charmian said quickly. “But can you 
spare the time?” 

“I can,” he replied. “I haven’t had a real vacation 
in the past ten years. And it strikes me that a fellow 
might run across some new medicinal herbs up in your 
Valley of Arcana. For all we know, there may be 
valuable scientific phenomena in that valley that only 
await discovery. Your valley, Mrs. Reemy, tempts 
me more than the opal mines. But to find the location 
of the valley, it seems, we must tackle the mines. So 
if everything turns out satisfactorily when we get to 
the Shinbone Country, I’ll go partners with you on the 
opal project.” 


40 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


“Let’s make it a triple partnership,” Andy sug¬ 
gested. 

“That suits me,” said Charmian. “To be frank, I 
hardly wanted to go into the thing alone. This is 
going to be my life’s big adventure—the adventure that 
I have been planning for and longing for and waiting 
for for several years. This looks like the big oppor¬ 
tunity at last—and I’m going to take a chance.” 

And here a new voice piped up. 

“Charmian Reemy,” said Mary Temple, “you are 
not going down into that hideous country with the 
hideous name in the company of four strange men.” 

“Why, old dear,” laughed Charmian, “two of them 
are not strangers at all.” 

“What two are not, please?” 

“Doctor Inman Shonto is known all over the United 
States and Europe,” Charmian pointed out. “And 
Mr. Jerome is his friend. What better recommenda¬ 
tion could one ask for, Mary Temple?” 

“There will be four men, and only two women,” 
Mary told her. “And it’s—it’s all but downright in¬ 
decent.” 

“Two women?” 

“Certainly. You are one, and I am one.” 

“Oh, you mean to go, too, then? I thought you 
would return to San Francisco and wait there for me.” 

“If you persist in going into that boneyard coun¬ 
try, Charmian, I am going with you. And that ends 
that.” 

“Well, goodness knows you’re welcome, Mary Tern- 


THE CONFERENCE AT JORNY SPRINGS 41 

pie,” laughed Charmian. “But I didn’t for a minute 
imagine that you would care to go.” 

“I don’t,” snapped Mary Temple. “But that’s not 
saying I’m not going. And there must be two more 
women in the party.” 

“Oh, Mary Temple! What a prig you are! Do 
you want to pair us off?” 

“Common decency demands that there be as many 
women as there are men,” declared Mary. 

“We might take my wife along,” Smith Morley put 
in. “She’s in Los Angeles now. She could meet us 

at-. Well, I’ll arrange that. But Leach hasn’t 

a wife—yet. Wouldn’t three women do, Miss Tem¬ 
ple? Another person would make the two machines 
pretty full, you know. We’ll have a world of baggage 
to pile in the tonneaus and lash on the running-boards.” 

“What is your wife like?” demanded Mary Temple 
unfeelingly. 

“Why, Mary Temple! What an impertinent ques¬ 
tion!” cried Charmian. 

“Impertinent or not,” barked Mary, “I want to 
know what his wife is like before I give my consent.” 

Morley only laughed and showed no resentment. 
“Why, she’s a pretty good old girl,” he told her. 
k “She’s a good housewife, not bad looking, a good 
dresser when I’m in luck, and pretty rough and ready 
when it comes to camp life in the wilderness. You’ll 
like her, I think.” 

“Have you any children?” demanded Mary. 

“No.” 



42 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

Mary sighed and clasped her veiny hands. “Well,” 
she declared, “I’d feel safer if you had a child to take 
along—preferably a little girl of seven or eight. The 
child, perhaps, would restrain you if you had any¬ 
thing evil in your mind.” 

“Mary Temple, I’m ashamed of you!” Charmian 
half laughed, and the colour flooded her face. 

“I’m only looking out for your interests, my dear,” 
said Mary. “If I didn’t, who would? I distrust men 
on general principles, as you know very well. But if 
you’re determined to go, Charmian, we can at least 
travel to where we are to meet Mrs. Morley. Then 
if she suits me, we’ll go on. If not, we’ll come back.” 

“You’re a, regular tyrant, Mary Temple!” pouted 
Charmian. 

“I know it,” Mary retorted. “But I get results.” 


CHAPTER VI 


SECOND SIGHT 

B ECAUSE Mary Temple was afraid to ride over 
the narrow curving road after dark, the four 
prospective adventurers remained at Jorny 
Springs all night. Before going to bed Charmian, 
coached by the doctor, made arrangements with Leach 
and Morley to go to San Francisco and sign certain 
papers to show good faith, which papers would be 
drawn up by the young widow’s attorney. When this 
matter had been settled, they were to drive together 
to the Shinbone Country—wherever that was—and 
make a thorough investigation of the properties. 

Both Leach and Morley had protested against en¬ 
tering into a written agreement. They offered to pro¬ 
duce references which ought to satisfy the most sus¬ 
picious, but Dr. Shonto remained firm. Finally, seeing 
no way around the obstacle, they consented, but de¬ 
clared that they begrudged the time that would be 
taken up by the trip to San Francisco. 

After the plain, old-fashioned dinner served by the 
owners of Jorny Springs, Charmian took a walk 
through the twilight. Shortly after she left the house 
Andy Jerome set off in the opposite direction, stating 
that he too would like a stroll. But when the great 
trees hid him from the house he made a swift circle 

43 


44 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

back, and soon was on Charmian’s trail. He found 
her leaning over a fence, watching a dozen fat and 
shockingly muddy pigs in a stake-and-rider corral. 

“I see you prefer to choose your own company,” he 
observed, as he rested his arms on the fence beside 
her. “I hope one more won’t constitute a crowd.” 

“Aren’t they funny!” she laughed. “I love pigs and 
things like that. Cows and chickens and horses and 
everything. Do you know that I, as the head of the 
expedition to be, intend to make a hard-and-fast ruling 
at the very outset? It’s this: No one in the party will 
be permitted to kill any living thing.” 

“Why, that’s a funny idea,” he laughed. “If a fel¬ 
low can’t do a little hunting to pass away dull hours, 
how’s he going to amuse himself? And it may be that 
we’ll frequently find ourselves in need of fresh meat.” 

“I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t approve of the 
slaughter of the innocents. I used to hunt myself, but 
I gave it up. I can’t bear to take a life. Man can’t 
create, yet in the winking of an eyelid he can and will 
destroy a life that he can never reproduce. It’s the 
same with a tree. One can cut down a tree in thirty 
minutes which nature has spent hundreds of years in 
growing. And man can’t replace it. Whenever I hear 
one of these giant redwoods fall groaning under the 
ax my heart fairly bleeds.” 

“But man must live,” Andy pointed out. 

“I don’t know whether he must or not,” she said 
seriously. “He’s made a complete botch of existence. 
Sometimes I wish the entire race were wiped out, so 
nature could begin all over again. Man is as bar- 


SECOND SIGHT 


45 

barous to-day as he was a thousand years ago. The 
only difference is that he has invented new machinery 
with which to practise his barbarism.” 

“Why, you’re a regular little cynic!” Andy accused. 

“Perhaps. I have little patience with mankind, if 
that’s what you mean. The so-called lower animals 
have my love and sympathy. They haven’t made a 
farce of their lives, as we have. And vivisection— 
that’s what makes me wild! Man, by his own selfish 
indulgences, by his reckless living, his complete dis¬ 
regard of the laws of nature, has succeeded in short¬ 
ening his life and depleting his physical vigour. So, 
in his eagerness to continue the debauch, scared stiff 
at thought of the yawning precipice just ahead of him, 
he turns in his cowardly way to the so-called lower ani¬ 
mals. He robs these helpless creatures of their health 
and vitality in order to patch up his poor, miserable, 
worthless body. Like the five foolish virgins, men say 
to these wise virgins—these innocents of the earth 
who have conserved their oil of life—‘Give us of your 
oil, for our lamps are gone out.’ Could anything be 
more cowardly, Mr. Jerome?” 

“But aren’t the lower animals placed on this earth 
for the benefit of man?” asked Andy. 

“Oh, yes—man imagines everything on earth is put 
here for him to exploit and ruin! Where are the buf¬ 
faloes? Where are the beavers? Where are the elks? 
Where are the bighorns? Were they put here for man 
to destroy—to wipe almost completely from the face 
of the earth? When man has learned to step down 
from his papier-mache throne of insufferable conceit, 


46 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

he will find that he is only a part of nature’s scheme— 
that every other atom in the universe is as important 
as he is. Then we can begin to look for the dawn of 
civilization.” 

“I’m afraid,” said Andy, “that you and Doctor 
Shonto are not destined to get along very well to¬ 
gether.” 

“Why?” 

“Well, it is his business to exploit nature for the 
rebuilding of man.” 

“Yes—I know. I tried to draw him out this morn¬ 
ing, but he refused to be tempted into a discussion of 
his work. How long have you known him, Mr. 
Jerome?” 

“Why, almost all my life, it seems. He is an old 
friend of my father and mother. I can’t remember 
when I didn’t know the doctor.” 

“That seems strange. He is not so much older than 
you are. How old are you?” 

“Twenty-four,” Andy replied. 

“And I should say the doctor is not much over 
thirty.” 

“Thirty-four, I believe.” 

“Then he was ten years old when you were born. 
Could you call him a ‘friend of your father and 
mother’ when he was ten years old? Did you play 
with him when you were a boy?” 

For a long time Andy Jerome was silent. Then he 
said slowly: 

“I must tell you something about myself. I can re¬ 
call almost nothing of my childhood before my twelfth 


SECOND SIGHT 


47 

birthday. And my earliest recollections are of Doctor 
Shonto. I remember him as about twenty-two or 
twenty-three years old. And, to me, he never was 
younger than that” 

“Why, I can’t understand you at all!” exclaimed the 
girl. 

“It’s very difficult to understand,” he said in low 
tones. “But when I was about eight years old, they 
tell me, something happened to me. It seems that I 
got a crack on the noodle while playing and lost my 
memory. I remained in that condition from the age 
of eight until I was perhaps between eleven and twelve. 
It was Doctor Shonto, who had just been graduated 
from a medical college and was already making a big 
name for himself, who treated me and brought me out 
of my coma. But, strange to say, it left me with a weak 
heart. I have to take treatment for it right along, and 
the doctor tells me that, if I neglect this treatment, my 
old condition will come back, or I may suddenly drop 
dead. For all that, I’m fit as a fiddle and strong as an 
ox. It seems funny to think that I may bump off at any 
moment—hard to believe. But nobody ever doubts 
Doctor Shonto. However, he has assured me again 
and again that I have nothing whatever to worry 
about, so long as I take my medicine diligently. I 
guess I haven’t missed a day since he began his treat¬ 
ment.” 

“Why, how strange!” was Charmian’s only com¬ 
ment. 

“It is strange—mighty strange. Now and then I 
get a faint glimmering of something that took place 


48 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

before I was eight years of age, but it’s so hazy that 
it seems like it happened to some one else instead of 
me. And it seemed that, when I gradually regained 
my memory, I was being born all over again. I had 
the mind of a child of two or three, though I was over 
twelve years old. I remembered nothing of what had 
been taught me in the private school that they told 
me I had once attended. I had to begin my schooling 
at the very bottom again. Lord, how they made me 
cram! I studied night and day, and seemed eager 
enough to learn. They tell me that I have caught up 
because of my perpetual digging—that I now have the 
mentality of a normal man of my age. And so for 
the past year I have studied very little, and have been 
catching up on the physical end. I have lived in the 
open months at a time, and frequently Doctor Shonto 
has been with me. He likes it himself, and he likes 
to be with me. And I can tell you right here and now 
that I think Doctor Inman Shonto the greatest man 
alive!” 

“I’ll bet you do,” said Charmian warmly. “But it 
strikes me as rather strange that you should never call 
him Doc, since you two are so close.” 

“I guess I’d never think of calling him that,” said 
Andy reflectively. “No, that wouldn’t seem the proper 
thing to do.” 

“What do you do when you’re at home, Mr. 
Jerome?” 

“Why, I hope to become a lawyer some day,” he 
replied. “You see, I’m still a student. I’ve studied 
law a little and mean to take up a regular course 


SECOND SIGHT 


49 

next year. But for the present my parents and Doctor 
Shonto think it best for me to loaf around outdoors.” 

‘‘I suppose your folks are wealthy,” said Charmian 
in her frank way. 

“Yes, they’re accounted so. Pop has retired. He 
was a candy and cracker manufacturer. I’d like to 
have you meet my mother. She’s a peach. You’d 
like her. She’d like you, too.” 

“And so your hero is Doctor Inman Shonto,” mused 
Charmian. “I wonder if it would be proper for me to 
ask you about his work, after he himself has refused 
to tell me anything?” 

“Precious little I can tell you,” laughed Andy. “But 
I’ll do my best. If Doctor Shonto has any secrets, 
they’re safe with me because I couldn’t explain them 
if I wanted to. Fire ahead. Doctor Shonto doesn’t 
like to talk about himself. He’s entirely too modest.” 

“I wanted to ask you,” said the girl, “if Doctor 
Shonto is in any way responsible for the horrible things 
I have read about in the papers lately. Rich men 
hiring thugs to waylay strong, healthy men, knock 
them out, and take them to doctors, who operate on 
them and steal their glands, which are substituted for 
the worn-out glands of the rich men?” 

“Nothing doing!” loyally cried Andy. “Doctor 
Shonto says the most of that news is nothing but hot 
air. No, he never uses human glands in his work. 
He uses sheep glands exclusively. And the animals 
are killed before he cuts the glands out of them.” 

“Are you positive?” 

“I have only his word for it. But he’s a very tender- 


50 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

hearted man—for a surgeon. And he has a magnificent 
sense of justice. No, not in a thousand years would 
Doctor Shonto countenance anything like that.” 

“I’m glad to hear you say so,” she sighed. “I think 
that is simply horrible—ghoulish! But why was it, 
then, that the doctor refused to tell me anything about 
his work?” 

“Well, he has accomplished wonders, they say. And, 
as I told you before, he’s modest.” 

“Modesty reaps its reward only in fiction.” 

“I imagine the doctor is keener after results than 
rewards,” Andy mused. “I’ll tell you the little that I 
have gleaned—mostly about the thyroid gland, which, 
you know, is in our throats. 

“It seems that, if a fellow is shy on thyroid, he’s 
up against it in many ways. He may be slow to learn, 
clumsy, and may have an unbalanced sense of right and 
wrong. If he is fed the extract of the thyroid glands 
of sheep, this can be corrected. 

“It is the same with the other glands in our system. 
Some control one thing, some another. And, according 
to Doctor Shonto’s theory, the time is close at hand 
when deficient people can be entirely remade by inject¬ 
ing into them, or feeding them, the extract of the 
gland secretion that they’re shy on. This will revolu¬ 
tionize our social system, according to Doctor Shonto. 
We will know then that mental defectives, criminals, 
people who are petulant and hard to get along with 
—in fact, everybody who is in any way not up to normal 
—are so because of the absence, or the over-supply, 
of the secretions of certain glands. This science can 


SECOND SIGHT 


5i 

correct, and the time may come when we will be able 
to do away with prisons and corrective institutions, 
and treat our fellowmen instead of mistreating them.” 

“Heaven speed the day!” said Charmian fervently. 
“But why, tell me, did Doctor Shonto hesitate about 
telling me that?” 

Andy shrugged his broad shoulders. “Quien sabe,” 
he said, “unless his modesty made him reticent. I 
think he’s afraid of being ridiculed as a visionary 
theorist.” 

“Doctor Shonto doesn’t strike me as a man who 
would shrink from ridicule, if he thought he was in the 
right,” Charmian declared. 

• • • • • • • 

Two days later the six who were interested in the 
opal project and the Valley of Arcana arrived in San 
Francisco late in the evening. It was after business 
hours, so nothing could be done toward drawing up 
the papers until the following morning. Charmian 
called up her attorney, briefly outlined the situation, and 
arranged for a conference at ten the following day. 
Then she went to her apartments with Mary Temple, 
while Andy and Dr. Shonto took rooms in the Palace 
Hotel. Smith Morley sent a telegram to his wife in 
Los Angeles, after which he and his partner sought a 
cheap rooming house on Kearny Street. They w T ere to 
meet the others in the offices of Charmian’s lawyer 
at eleven o’clock next morning. 

Charmian Reemy was tired from the long auto¬ 
mobile ride from the wilderness, and went early to 
bed. Shortly after her retirement Mary Temple step- 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


52 

ped softly to her bedroom door and listened until con¬ 
vinced that her young charge was sound asleep. Then 
she put on her ancient fur coat and her surprisingly 
old-fashioned hat, and noiselessly left the apartment. 

The elevator was still running, and she rode in it 
to the ground floor, where she slipped out into a cold, 
foggy night. At the corner she took a streetcar and 
rode to a point in the city directly opposite Golden 
Gate Park. Here she left the car, walked three blocks, 
and rang the bell of a three-story flat. 

Presently the door automatically swung open, and 
she entered a warm, carpeted hall. She briskly as¬ 
cended a long flight of stairs, at the top of which a 
large woman in a blue-silk kimono awaited her. 

“Oh, it’s you, is it, dearie?” greeted the woman. 
“I thought you were in the country.” 

“We came back this evening, Madame Destrehan,” 
said Mary, reaching the large woman’s side and ex¬ 
tending her hand. “And I came direct to you. Pm 
in trouble again. That little minx has a new wild 
scheme in her head. I can’t talk her out of it. But 
Pm afraid. I just know there’s something wrong.” 

“Come in and tell me all about it,” offered Madame 
Destrehan. “I know I can help you. I—I—” She 
placed a fat, white, bejewelled hand to her forehead 
and brushed across it. “I see something now.” 

They entered the medium’s apartment. Both seated 
themselves, and Mary Temple poured out the story 
of the two strangers who had invaded El Trono de 
Tolerancia, and of the opal claims and the Valley of 
Arcana. Madame Destrehan listened with both eyes 


SECOND SIGHT 


53 

closed. She sat immovable after Mary’s cracked voice 
ceased, her eyelids still lowered. 

Then she began waving her plump hands slowly this 
way and that. She did not open her eyes, but she 
mumbled something which Mary could not interpret. 
Then suddenly she began speaking in a low, awed tone. 

“I see that valley,” said the seventh daughter of a 
seventh daughter. “It’s beautiful, but death stalks 
across it from end to end. And I see— Oh, horrors! 
I see an ugly face. The face of a man. It is bluish, 
and the eyes are popping from the head. The eyes are 
glazed, and his thick, blue tongue hangs out like the 
tongue of a tired dog. The man’s hair is dishevelled 
and long. A matted beard covers his face. His eyes 
stare, then gleam with ferocity. His skin is withered 
and yellow, and his finger nails are long. He grits his 
teeth and babbles like a madman. And—oh, horrors! 
He is leaning over Mrs. Reemy, and his crooked fin¬ 
gers are drawing nearer and nearer to her white 
throat 1” 


CHAPTER VII 

lot’s wife and shirttail henry 

T HE papers had been signed. Andy Jerome and 
Dr. Inman Shonto had wired to Los Angeles 
to explain that they probably would not be 
home for a month. Smith Morley’s wife had arrived 
in San Francisco, since the adventurers’ trip to the city 
had necessitated a change in their route to the Shin¬ 
bone Country. Several days were spent in outfitting 
the expedition. And just a week after Dr. Shonto had 
told Charmian Reemy of the prospectors they set off 
early in the morning, with Charmian, Andy, and Mr. 
and Mrs. Morley in the leading car. 

Two days later, having driven leisurely and stopped 
at hotels en route, they negotiated a steep, wooded 
pass and saw the yellow desert stretched out before 
them, three thousand feet above the sea. Across it 
continued the road, straight as a carpenter’s chalk¬ 
line, until it contracted to a pinpoint in the hazy dis¬ 
tance and disappeared with the curvature of the earth. 

The big cars wallowed into the sandy ruts and con¬ 
tinued on. Weird growths were on either side of the 
* 

road—great flat-palmed cacti, whispering yucca palms, 
scattering greasewood bushes. The wind was strong, 
and the sand was driven into the travellers’ faces in 
waves. Now and then the cars crossed dry lakes, 
which, before they reached them, had looked decep- 

54 


LOT’S WIFE AND SHIRTTAIL HENRY 55 

tively wet. These were smooth, like hardened plaster 
of Paris, except that now and then the mud, in drying, 
had cracked and peeled, leaving a sea of shards that 
extended for many miles. Nothing at all grew on the 
dark surface of these dry lakes. 

In the dim distance a hazy line of calico buttes ap¬ 
peared after an hour of fast travel over the desert. 
As the machines neared them a long line of mountains 
showed behind the buttes, and the uninitiated of the 
party were told that between the buttes and the range 
of wooded mountains lay another stretch of desert 
as barren as the one they then were crossing. The 
buttes marked the beginning of the Shinbone Country, 
which extended into the higher altitudes. In the buttes 
were the opal claims. 

They came to an oasis, green with alfalfa. Here 
for forty years a family had lived because of the 
artesian water that spurted up from the level land. 
The cottonwood trees, though they had shed their 
leaves for the coming winter, looked inviting to the 
sand-blistered pilgrims. The place was called Diamond 
H Ranch, and the owner herded his cattle on the desert 
during winter months, when bunchgrass grew, and 
drove them to the distant mountains for the summer 
grazing. 

Not until they reached the ranch did Smith Mor- 
ley inform his prospective buyers that here their jour¬ 
ney by automobile would end. There was a huge sta¬ 
ble, and in it there was plenty of room to store the 
cars. Also, Morley told them, they would meet with 
no difficulty in buying or hiring saddle horses and pack 


5 6 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

animals from the ranchman. Furthermore, he con¬ 
ducted a tiny store in connection with his ranch, and 
if it should become necessary to do so, they could re¬ 
turn to the ranch at any time and purchase such staple 
articles of food as might be needed. 

Roger Furlong was the rancher’s name. He and his 
family made the guests welcome and treated them hos¬ 
pitably. The afternoon was spent in the selection of 
saddle stock, and the rancher’s boy was sent scouring 
the desert for a herd of burros, which were at large 
and living off the sage. It was late in the afternoon 
before the herd was rounded up and driven in to the 
corrals. Here Furlong picked out twelve animals that 
were old-time packers. The outfit’s supplies and para¬ 
phernalia were transferred from the tonneaus and 
running boards of the machines to the pack-bags. 
When darkness came everything was ready for an 
early start for the calico buttes the following morning. 

All of which caused Mary Temple to register a look 
of high disapproval. 

Mary had roughed it considerably in Alaska, so the 
trip in the saddle had no terrors for her. Neither did 
she shrink from their proposed sojourn in a wild, wa¬ 
terless, and unfriendly country. But she was amazed 
and resentful over the whole proceedings. 

In San Francisco, while they were outfitting, she 
had done her utmost to dissuade Charmian from con¬ 
tinuing her erratic undertaking. But that young lady 
had a mind of her own and was not to be led astray 
from her life’s great adventure. Every plan for pre¬ 
venting her from going having failed, Mary had re- 


LOT’S WIFE AND SHIRTTAIL HENRY 57 

course to a recital of what Madame Destrehan’s sec¬ 
ond sight had revealed to her. At this Charmian had 
scoffed disdainfully and laughed hilariously, for Char¬ 
mian was well aware that Mary often consulted people 
who claimed to have occult powers. So Mary perforce 
carried out her original intention and made one of the 
party, for only death could separate her from Char¬ 
mian Reemy. But as preparations for the final lap 
of their journey went forward she continued to glare 
her displeasure and to shake her greying head with 
misgivings. 

They left Diamond H Ranch at sunup next morn¬ 
ing, driving the laden burros ahead of them. Their 
course took them at right angles to the road over 
which they had reached the oasis, and extended in a 
northeasterly direction through the trackless sage and 
greasewood. 

The sand grew heavier as they progressed. The 
wind came up and drove clouds of it into their faces, 
sometimes with stinging force. Laden with alkali as 
it was, their lips and eyelids soon began to swell, and 
their throats grew parched. They drank heavily of 
the water in the desert bags on the burros’ backs, for 
Morley assured the party that there would probably 
be sufficient water near the claims at that time of year. 
There was an intermittent spring in the buttes, he ex¬ 
plained, that went dry during the hot months through 
evaporation. But with the approach of winter, even 
though no rain had fallen, the water rose again in the 
spring because the evaporation was lessened by the 
coolness in the air. 


58 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

They camped at noon, halfway to the butted. The 
morning had been cool and bracing, and the tempera¬ 
ture of the noontide was moderate. Morley informed 
the newcomers that in less than a month the weather 
would be cool enough to suit any of them, and that 
snow, even, might sweep down from the mountains 
and lie on the ground for several hours. 

It was a long, hard trip, for none of them, with the 
exception of the young widow, had been in the saddle 
to any great extent for many months. Charmian rode 
just behind the waddling burros, with Andy at her side. 
Shonto rode beside Mary Temple, who for the most 
part made an uncommunicative companion. The pros¬ 
pectors rode with Morley’s wife in the rear, and the 
trio had very little to say to the others. 

Dr. Shonto watched Andy and Charmian and could 
not help but admire them. Physically they were well 
suited to each other, and both were young and hand¬ 
some. Since their first meeting Shonto had taken note 
of the gradual drawing together of the two. He 
realized that, on the surface of things, this was as it 
should be. They were equals socially and intellectually, 
and few there were who would not have called it a fine 
match. 

Still, Dr. Shonto knew in his heart that he could not 
allow this thing to go on and culminate in the age-old 
life partnership between man and woman. He sin¬ 
cerely believed that he himself was the man for Char¬ 
mian Reemy. Never before had he met a woman 
who appealed to him as she did, both physically and 
mentally. Despite the difference in their ages, he felt 


LOT’S WIFE AND SHIRTTAIL HENRY 59 

that he, rather than Andy, was the one to satisfy her 
and round out her life to a point as near completeness 
as humanity can achieve. She was far older than Andy 
mentally. Andy was only a strong, handsome boy. He 
—the doctor—was a man of experience,of achievement, 
of broad ideals. But all that aside, Dr. Shonto knew 
that he was falling in love with Charmian, and that, 
if necessary, he would sacrifice Andy’s friendship to 
win her. For love is primitive; and when a man of the 
doctor’s age and experience falls in love for the first 
time he makes a rival that will brook no interference. 
In shorter phraseology, the doctor wanted this girl— 
and he meant to have her. 

As the long evening shadows crawled over the yucca- 
and cactus-studded wastes the party entered the buttes. 
Here they found relief from the monotonous desola¬ 
tion they had left, for huge rocks squatted on either 
side of their course, and the yuccas were larger and 
seemed more friendly. The buttes themselves showed 
a variety to which the level land could not lay claim,, 
and here and there was a juniper tree, alone and un¬ 
watered, but displaying a greenery that made it in a 
way companionable. 

Darkness had overtaken them when Smith Morley 
called a halt. They were far within the chain of 
buttes, in an enfilade with' walls of stone towering high 
above them on either side. They had reached the 
spring, and, after an examination of it, the prospector 
made the welcome announcement that there was con¬ 
siderable water in the natural stone basin beneath the 
drip. For some time, however, the water supply would 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


*6o 

be short, and it would possibly prove necessary to take 
the saddle horses into the mountains, the foothills of 
which were about five miles distant, and leave them 
there in a certain well-watered meadow of which the 
opal miners knew. The burros, camel-like, could live 
on very little water; and the spring perhaps would 
drip enough for them and the domestic use of the 
party. The claims were two miles farther on, in the 
direction of the mountains. 

They pitched camp at once. Leach and Mrs. Morley 
went on a search for petrified yucca with which to 
build a fire. The others unpacked the burros, hobbled 
the horses, and pitched the tents. 

Mary Temple, because of her superior culinary 
knowledge—which no one disputed—constituted her¬ 
self camp cook; and the first thing she had not con¬ 
demned since leaving El Trono de Tolerancia was the 
excellent fire that the petrified yucca made. Her 
appetizing supper was ready before the last tent had 
been pitched, and they all gathered around it under the 
cold desert stars and ate as enjoyably as their cracked 
and swollen lips would permit. 

All were excessively weary, and, though the meal 
revived their spirits in a measure, no one would have 
been averse to seeking his roll of blankets at an early 
Lour. This, however, was forestalled by the sound of 
a voice that came suddenly from the night about them 
-—a strange, cracked voice that startled them. 

“Hello!” it said. “I hope and trust ye ain’t used 
up all the water in the spring, ’cause I ain’t had a 


LOT’S WIFE AND SHIRTTAIL HENRY 61 


drop since noon, an’ Lot’s Wife ain’t had none since 
yistiddy mornin’.” 

Omar Leach, who was reclining on one elbow placidly 
smoking a short briar pipe, flipped himself to a sitting 
posture and stared at Morley. Morley’s face twitched, 
and his close-set eyes seemed to narrow perceptibly as 
he gazed back at his partner. 

Then Leach gave himself another flip and was on 
his feet. “Get outa here!” he bawled. “Go on home, 
and you’ll find plenty of water. We’re tired and want 
to go to bed and can’t be bothered with you.” 

“Oh, it’s you, is it, Omar?” called the voice. “An’ 
ye’d send me on to the mountains without a drink, would 
ye? It’s like ye, by gum! Well, I’m cornin’ in for 
water for me an’ Lot’s Wife. Maybe the rest o’ yer 
gang ain’t so all-fired selfish. C’m’ere, ye pillar o’ salt I 
Wait a min-ut, can’t ye !” 

This last apparently was addressed to Lot’s Wife, 
who, when she dashed into camp and buried her muzzle 
in the spring basin, proved to be a slant-eared, knock- 
kneed female burro as shaggy as the trunk of a shell- 
bark hickory. After her plodded a man, who had lost 
his hold on her lead-rope. 

Smith Morley darted toward the burro and gave 
her a kick in the belly that brought a grunt of pain from 
her. He drew back his leg for another, but found him¬ 
self facing Charmian Reemy’s flashing eyes. 

“You kick that burro again,” she said, “and I start 
for home to-morrow morning. So that’s the kind of 
man you are, is it? You would keep a fellow traveller 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


6 2 

in this forsaken land and his burro from drinking water, 
would you? Well, Mr. Morley, I don’t know whether 
it is safe to trust in a business deal a man who has 
such selfishness in his heart as you have shown. I may 
decide to go back anyway.” 

Smith Morley looked foolish and embarrassed. 

“But you don’t understand, Mrs. Reemy,” he de¬ 
fended himself. “This water is mighty precious. We’ll 
have to let it drip twelve hours to get enough for our¬ 
selves and the pack animals for a day; and I can see 
right now that the horses will have to go to the 
mountains in the morning. And this fellow here—I 
know him well. He’s the recognized nuisance of the 
Shinbone Country. A burro can go for days without 
water—they’re like a camel, Mrs. Reemy. And this 
old desert rat can do it, too. He’s less than ten miles 
from his home. Why don’t he go there for his water? 
We were here first. It’s first come first served in the 
Shinbone Country, when it comes to water.” 

“Ten miles is a long trip when one hasn’t had a drink 
in about seven hours,” said Charmian. Then she 
wheeled upon the comical figure that had followed the 
burro into camp. 

“Your burro shall have all the water she needs,” 
she promised him. “And you may fill up your bags, 
if you have any. I’m Mrs. Charmian Reemy, of San 
Francisco, and this lady is my companion, Miss Mary 
Temple. These two gentlemen are Doctor Shonto and 
Mr. Jerome, of Los Angeles. You know the others, 
it seems. We’re here to investigate their opal claims.” 

The man was tall, and his bronzed face was covered 


LOT’S WIFE AND SHIRTTAIL HENRY 63 

with ragged brown whiskers. His eyes were large 
and blue and innocent-looking. His clothes were far 
too large for him, enormous though his body was. 
Quaintness stood out all over him. 

“I’m reg’lar glad to meet ye, ma’am,” he grinned, 
bowing profoundly. “And, lady”—he made another 
impressive bow to Mary—“the same to you.” He 
turned to Dr. Shonto and Andy. “Gentl e-men” he 
said, and bent nearly double again. “I am Shirttail 
Henry. They call me Shirttail because I live at Shirt¬ 
tail Bend, which is a hairpin curve in th’ trail that leads 
from these here buttes here to the meadows up on 
top o’ the mountains. My right name’s Henry Rich- 
kirk, an’ I ain’t a nuisance in these parts, if I do say 
it myself. But I could name some that are, though 
I wouldn’t. You,” he continued, swinging back toward 
Charmian as if the wind had caught his fluttery gar¬ 
ments and whisked him about, “are a gorgeous pretty 
girl, an’ seein’ ye stood up for Lot’s Wife, I guess 
ye’re perfect. If ye wanta make Shirttail Henry your 
friend, stand up f’r Lot’s Wife. Ye done it, an’ I’ll 
tell ye somethin’ about opals before ye go any furder. 
Shirttail Henry knows th’ stones that’ve caught the 
colours o’ the rainbow. An’ he knows how they get 
them colours. Ye stood up f’r Lot’s Wife, an’ Shirt- 
tail Henry’s gonta stand up f’r you. Nuisance, eh! 
Well—” 

But here Smith Morley and Omar Leach leaped upon 
the man, and together they bore him, fighting, to the 
ground. 

“He’s crazy, Mrs. Reemy,” puffed Leach, struggling 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


64 

to keep the big man on his back. “Crazy as a road- 
runner. Dangerous, too! He’s lived in this country 
all alone too long—and he’s—” 

At this point Dr. Inman Shonto and Andy Jerome 
took a hand in the rough proceedings. 


CHAPTER VIII 


MISSING 

D ESPITE the fact that there were two against 
him, the curious man from the mountains, 
needed little aid. He was a powerful Cyclops,, 
and his columnar arms flailed out to right and left 
as he fought on his back like a ’coon. He might 
have pounded off his enemies and gained his feet alone 
in time. But Andy had grabbed the coat collar of 
Omar Leach, and Dr. Shonto, himself a snarl of 
sinewy muscles, was in like manner dragging Smith 
Morley from the prostrate mountaineer. Charmian 
Reemy, biting her lips, looked on without a word. 
Mary observed proceedings with an acidulous smile, 
which might have signified any one of several primi¬ 
tive emotions. 

While the doctor and Andy held the prospectors 
off, Shirttail Henry bounded to his feet and broad¬ 
casted a wide grin about the circle. 

“You boys,” he said to Leach and Morley, “come 
purty near goin’ too fur that time. Some o’ these 
days when ye get rambunctious with me, I’ll take a 
stick and knock yer gysh-danged heads off. Heh-heh- 
heh!” • 

Despite the rather serious aspect of the situation, 

65 


66 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

Charmian burst into a fit of laughter. Nothing could 
have been milder than the tone that Shirttail Henry 
used in reproaching his assailants. And his grin, to¬ 
gether with the cackling laugh that followed his words 
of censure, took all of the menace out of his speech. 
Time and again in later days she was to hear Shirttail 
Henry utter dire threats of vengeance on some one, but 
invariably the sting was taken from his venomous tirade 
by the cracked “heh-heh-heh” that followed it. 

Morley and Leach glowered at him, but made no 
further move to molest him. They knew that they 
were “in bad” with the prospective buyers of their 
mining properties, so they held their peace and did 
not struggle to free themselves. 

It was Charmian who broke the silence that followed 
Shirttail Henry Richkirk’s prophecy. 

“This is a fine set of proceedings,” she said wither- 
ingly. “Mr. Richkirk, if you care to, we’d like to 
have you camp with us to-night. We—I mean the 
greenhorns of the party—are ready and willing to do 
anything to make amends for the inhospitable treat¬ 
ment Mr. Leach and Mr. Morley have shown you. 
And if you feel inclined to tell me what you hinted 
at—about opals, you know—I’ll certainly be glad to 
hear it.” 

But to her surprise Shirttail Henry had half turned 
from her and was gazing through a break in the buttes 
at the distant mountains. The moon was showering 
its pale radiance on the desert. Shirttail Henry ex¬ 
tended one of his long arms and pointed to a tiny cloud 


MISSING 67 

above the distant range, which the moonlight now re¬ 
vealed. 

“See that cloud?” he asked. “Well, that means 
Shirttail Henry and Lot’s Wife have gotta go. I can’t 
stay with ye to-night, ma’am—thank ye kindly. I gotta 
be gettin’ to Shirttail Bend right quick, for maybe that 
cloud means rain. C’m’on, Mrs. Lot.” He hurried 
to the burro and grabbed up the lead-rope. “Good 
night, people. I’ll see ye maybe to-morrow, ma’am, 
an’ tell ye about the opals. Good night, all—and thank 
ye kindly!” 

With the newcomers staring after him in wonder¬ 
ment, he hustled his dejected pack animal out of camp, 
and they faded away into the desert night. 

“Well, of all things!” gasped Mary Temple. 

“You can see for yourselves,” said Leach, with a 
note of doggedness in his tones, “that he’s a regular 
nut. He’s a hermit and lives all alone up there, not 
seeing anybody in months. He traps and fishes, and 
makes out in a disreputable cabin, with only his burro 
for company. He’s the biggest nuisance imaginable, 
and, besides, he’s dangerously insane.” 

“I don’t believe that, Mr. Leach,” Charmian de¬ 
clared, and set her red lips tightly after the words. 

Leach shrugged. “Can’t help that, Mrs. Reemy,” 
he told her in a hurt tone. “But it’s the truth. I don’t 
want him in camp with me when I’m asleep. He might 
sneak up and cut my throat. The one thing on earth 
that I fear is a crazy man.” 

Andy and Dr. Shonto had released their captives, 


68 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

and now they silently sat down on the ground and 
awaited the outcome of the dialogue between Charmian 
and the opal miners. This was her adventure, and they 
did not wish to interfere so long as their opinions were 
not asked for. 

“What did he mean about the cloud?” she asked, 

“Oh, that,” said Morley, and laughed shortly. “He 
is employed by the weather bureau to record the rain¬ 
fall and snowfall in the section of the mountains where 
he lives. He gets seven or seven and a half a month— 
I forget just how much—for being on hand to read 
his rain gauge and sending in his reports. It’s the 
most ridiculous thing you ever heard of, Mrs. Reemy. 
Henry will be away ’tending to his traps, and up comes 
a little cloud about the size of his ear. Then he drops 
everything and races home to his rain gauge, over 
which he’ll squat until the cloud floats out of his section 
of the mountains. And when it does rain or snow he 
chases with his report all the way to Diamond H Ranch 
and sends it in to the weather bureau. And maybe 
while he’s making the trip another cloud will show up. 
Then he’s between the devil and the deep blue sea, for 
his report ought to go in at once, while at the same 
time more rain is threatening on his station. All that 
for not over seven and a half a month. Can you beat it! 
What do you think of him now? Is he crazy? And 
the kick he gets out of that job would make a horse 
laugh. He’s always calling himself a goverment offi¬ 
cial; and when his check doesn’t arrive promptly he 
writes a complaint to the President. Oh, Henry’s a 
scream, all right!” 


/ 


MISSING 69 

“He may be all of that,” Charmian spoke thought¬ 
fully, “but that’s no excuse for mistreating him.” 

“Why, Mrs. Reemy—” 

“I don’t believe that I care to hear any defence of 
what you two men did to-night,” she interrupted 
crisply. “Please let’s drop the subject. I’m tired; 
I’m going to bed. Good night, everybody.” 

She walked away toward her tent, but paused sud¬ 
denly, turned, and hurled back a parting shot. 

“And I shall have a talk with Shirttail Henry be¬ 
fore going any further into the buying of your opal 
claims.” 

Then she walked on out of the radius of the fire¬ 
light glow. 

• • • • • • • 

It was dawn when Dr. Inman Shonto awoke. He 
crawled halfway out of his blankets and parted the 
tent flaps. Through the inchoate light he saw the 
gleam of the camp-fire and a figure moving about it. 
He heard the low rattle of pots and pans. The figure, 
he knew soon, was that of the industrious Mary Tem¬ 
ple, and she was all alone. 

The doctor himself had intended to rise first, re¬ 
build the fire, and set water on to boil; but Mary had 
forestalled him. Provoked at himself for allowing a 
woman to rise first and begin the hard work of camp 
life, he struggled into his clothes without awaking 
Andy and hurried out to her. 

“Good morning,” he greeted her. “It’s pretty 
shivery out here. You beat me to it, and I apologize 


7 o THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

for oversleeping and allowing you to start breakfast 
alone.” 

“You’re a very considerate gentleman, Doctor,” re¬ 
plied Mary Temple. “But this is nothing new for me, 
and I like to work. I like to smell the dawn come, too. 
They’ve gone.” 

“What’s that? Who’s gone, Miss Temple?” 

“Leach and Morley and his wife,” Mary replied, 
raking coals one side from the fire on which to place 
the coffeepot to simmer. 

“Gone? Gone where?” 

“Land knows! But I guessed it last night. They 
knew they’d not have any chance after Charmian talked 
with that Shirttail body. They’re crooked, Doctor. 
A dog’s hind leg would look like a steel ruler ’longside 
of Leach and Morley. I knew it—I just knew it all 
along!” 

“Do you mean, Miss Temple, that Morley and his 
wife and Leach have ridden off and left us here on the 
desert?—that their opal claims are a fake, and that 
they were afraid Shirttail Henry would expose them 
to Mrs. Reemy?” 

“Of course,” answered Mary simply. “I knew it all 
along, but nobody would have paid any attention to 
me, so I couldn’t say boo to a goose. Now isn’t this 
a beautiful splatchet?” 

“I don’t believe I understand you,” puzzled the physi¬ 
cian. “A ‘splatchet’ ?” 

Mary never seemed to find the dictionaries adequate 
to the needs of her vocabulary. She invented words 


MISSING 


7i 

indiscriminately when the sound of them seemed to 
suggest the thought she wanted to express. 

“A splatchet,” she said carefully, “is a double mess 
on the floor. If you were baking pancakes, for instance, 
and turned to the sink a second to rinse out a couple 
of teacups, then saw that the pancakes were about to 
burn, and then you jumped for them and upset both 
the dishwater and the pancake batter, you’d make a 
splatchet on the floor.” 

“What animals have they taken?” asked Shonto, 
with a smile at her droll word coinage. “Have you 
investigated?” 

“Of course,” said Mary. “They’ve taken the three 
horses they rode here on, a little grub, and three can¬ 
teens of water. That’s all. No great loss to us. 
We’ve plenty left to travel back on. They tied what 
grub they took behind their saddles, for all the burros 
are here.” 

“You didn’t find a note or anything like that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Well, this is a pretty mess, Miss Temple! Mrs. 
Reemy will be sick with disappointment.” 

“Maybe so. It’ll do her good. If she’d taken my 
advice she’d be tucked in her pretty ivory bed at El 
Trono de Tolerancia this minute, and I’d be turning 
flapjacks at the fireplace. But, no—I don’t know any¬ 
thing! Nobody listens to me!” 

“To be quite frank with you,” said the doctor, “I’m 
a little glad too that things have turned out like this. 
I hated to see Mrs. Reemy sink fifty thousand dollars 


72 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

in opal mines, so I offered to go in with her. So did 
Andy. But all three of us have about as much need 
for an opal mine as we have for two noses. Just the 
same, I was willing to put my shoulder under a third 
of the proposition to please Mrs. Reemy and help her 
out with her great adventure. But now, as I said, 
I’m rather satisfied that it has turned out as it has.” 

“You like to see the fire flash in her brown eyes 
when she talks about her big adventure, don’t you, 
Doctor?” Mary Temple shot at him. 

Dr. Shonto laughed, though by no means mirthfully. 
“What do you mean by that?” he asked. 

Mary’s faded eyes looked at him steadily, and the 
thin nostrils of her long nose twitched squirrel-like. 
“Oh, you know what I mean,” she lashed out. “I can 
read the signs. Well, I never was a body to hold my 
tongue. I say what I think. And now I’m thinking 
that I’d rather see you get her than your friend Mr. 
Jerome. He may be all right, so far as men go, but 
he’s too much like her to suit me. Too young and 
rattle-headed. You could tone her down a bit. But 
Jerome’ll get her—that’s plain. She’s in love with him 
this minute. But it won’t last, Doctor. There’ll be a 
divorce if they marry. Then you can step in. But 
for my part I’d rather see her single.” 

“I think,” said Shonto soberly, “that in your youth 
you must have sung an old ditty that comes to my 
mind— 


“What are the little girls made out of? 
What are the little girls made out of? 


MISSING 


73 


Sugar and spice and everything nice— 

That’s what the little girls are made out of.” 

“What are the little boys made out of? 

What are the little boys made out of? 

Rats and snails and puppy-dogs’ tails— 

That’s what the little boys are made out of.” 

“You have a pretty good bass voice,” was all that 
Mary said, as she began slicing bacon on the bottom 
of a bucket. 


i 


CHAPTER IX 


A CASE FOR REJUVENATION 

C HARMIAN REEMY received the news of the 
flight of Leach and the Morleys with equanim- 
ity. 

“I have been afraid for some time,” she asserted at 
breakfast, “that there was something wrong. Oh, well, 
it doesn’t greatly matter. I never should have con¬ 
sidered buying the opal claims, anyway, if it hadn’t 
been necessary to do it in order to get the location of 
the Valley of Arcana. And Shirttail Henry ought to 
be able to at least show us how to get a peep at it.” 

“Charmian Reemy, you’re going home,” announced 
Mary stiffly. 

“Wrong again, Mary Temple. We’re going to find 
the Valley of Arcana and explore it.” 

“Then I’ll not move another foot, Charmian. 
“That’s flat.” 

“So is the desert,” said Charmian demurely, “and 
to spend the remainder of your life on it, Mary Tem¬ 
ple, would be frightfully monotonous.” 

“You know what I mean well enough,” snapped 
Mary. “I’ll find a way to get home without you.” 

“Mary Temple, your miner’s bread is simply ex¬ 
quisite this morning,” Charmian told her placidly. 
“You haven’t forgotten our delightful days in Alaska, 

74 


A CASE FOR REJUVENATION 75 

I see. Mary Temple, hereafter I intend to refer to 
you as my companion at arms. You’re so companion¬ 
able that I couldn’t think of existing without you, and 
you’re always up in arms. Companion at arms is 
right. I’m glad I thought of that one. Naming 
things is my hobby, you know, Doctor.” 

“Charmian,” quoth Mary in a sepulchral voice, 
“have you forgotten what Madame Destrehan saw in 
your Valley of Foolishness?” 

“Let’s see. It was a madman bending over me, 
wasn’t it?—and stretching out his talonlike fingers to¬ 
ward my throat?” 

“It was—and you know it. Well, haven’t you had 
warning enough?” 

“You are well aware, Mary Temple, that I put no 
faith whatever in the second sight of Madame Destre¬ 
han or any other swindler,” Charmian reminded her. 

“But in this case, isn’t her prophecy working out? 
Haven’t we had the madman right here in our camp? 
What better evidence of her powers can you ask for, 
Charmian?” 

“In camp,” said the perverse young widow, “I al¬ 
ways take two cups of coffee for breakfast, Doctor. 
One with the trimmings, and one black. May I trouble 
you to pour me another cup ? And do you really think 
Shirttail Henry is a nut, Mary Temple?” 

“Putting aside what Leach and Morley told us about 
him,” Mary replied, “didn’t we see him strike off for 
the mountains when he saw a tiny cloud no bigger than 
a pancake? And think of him writing to the President 
when his puny little check fails to come on the dot! 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


76 

I wouldn’t call him a nut. I wouldn’t call anybody a 
nut, because that’s vulgar. But he’s a subject for a 
padded cell, and he’ll choke you to death in your old 
(Valley of Tomfoolery if you persist in going up there 
and giving him the chance.” 

“That would be a rather unique experience, don’t 
you think, Andy?” asked the girl. “I’ve never even 
had a madman’s fingers at my throat, let alone being 
choked to death by one. I think, if I barely succeeded 
in escaping alive, that my life would be fuller ever 
afterward. And if Henry wants to give me the de¬ 
licious experience I mean to let him have his chance. 
But he mustn’t overdo it. You’ll keep close and see 
that Henry doesn’t go too far, won’t you, Doctor 
Shonto? When my tongue lolls out and I’m begin¬ 
ning to get blue in the face, just yell, ‘Look at that 
cloud drifting over your rain gauge, Henry!’ ” 

“Funny, ain’t you?” sniffed Mary. 

“Trying to be,” said Charmian humbly. 

The four ate in silence after this, Charmian’s rogu¬ 
ish brown eyes hidden by the long lashes. Now and 
then she looked up and smiled mischievously at Andy 
or the doctor, for all the world like a contrary little 
girl who knows she is exasperating and glories in it. 

“When do we start?” asked Mary suddenly. 

“For where?” 

“For the mountains and Henry Richkirk’s place.” 

“Why, we don’t just know how to find him,” said 
Charmian, winking at the two men. “But he’s calling 
on us to-day, you’ll remember. I guess we’ll just have 
to stay here and wait for him. Well, we’re all through 


A CASE FOR REJUVENATION 77 

eating, and I suppose, as hostess, I ought to rise first. 
But I’m so stiff from yesterday’s ride. Won’t you get 
up and help me on my feet, Andy?” 

“ ‘Mr. Jerome’ would sound better, wouldn’t it, 
Charmian?” There was a decided corrective note in 
Mary’s tone. 

“Oh, we can’t bother with mistering and missising 
and missing one another,” protested the girl. “I call 
Doctor Shonto ‘Doctor,’ and I’ve simply got to have 
a brief name for Mr. Jerome. Andy’s mighty handy. 
And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have you two gen¬ 
tlemen, or overgrown boys, or whatever you call your¬ 
selves, address me as Charmian. It takes all the kick 
out of camp life to go about mistering and missising 
one another. Which would sound more practical, 
Mary Temple?—‘Doctor Inman Shonto, I think that 
rattlesnake is about to bite you’ or ‘Jiggers, Doc! 
Rattlesnake!’ I think our eminent physician would 
jiggers more promptly if he heard the latter, don’t 
you? Why, I seem to be in pretty good spirits this 
morning, don’t I ?” 

“You’re talking a lot,” said Mary, and rose to 
gather up the “dead and wounded” and place them in 
the dishwater. 

The doctor had fed and watered the stock while 
Mary was completing her breakfast-getting. This as¬ 
certained, Charmian proposed a ride in search of the 
opal mines of their vanished dreams. They were only 
two miles farther in the buttes, the prospectors had 
revealed, and the girl wanted to visit them while they 
awaited the coming of the devoted weather man. 


78 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

Also, she wished to limber up again in preparation for 
the ride to the mountains. Mary Temple refused to 
be lured from the domestic duties of the camp, so the 
girl and the two men rode off without her. 

As they started Mary shrilled after them: 

“Andy Jerome—if I must call you Andy—did you 
forget to take your medicine this morning?” 

Andy grinned sheepishly, stopped his horse, and dis¬ 
mounted. 

“Humph!” sniffed Mary. “I thought as much.” 

Andy went to his tent and took a tablet from a paste¬ 
board box. As he carried it to the spring for water 
to wash it down, he asked: 

“How did you know I am taking medicine, Mary?— 
if I must call you Mary.” 

“Humph! Haven’t I seen you swallow one of those 
little tablets regularly every morning since I first met 
you? And I know medicine must be taken regularly 
in order to get the full benefit of it. I don’t know 
what you’re taking those tablets for, and I don’t care, 
but I do know that, so long as I am one of the idiots 
in this Bonehead Country, you’ll not miss a morning 
while the medicine lasts.” 

“Thanks for your thoughtfulness, Mary,” Andy 
laughed. “I don’t wonder that Charmian finds you 
indispensable. But did you call the Shinbone Country 
the Bonehead Country by accident, or—” 

“Or,” Mary interjected decisively. 

There was but one direction for the trio to travel, 
they found, because they were in a pass between the 
two lines of buttes. It was not long before they saw 


A CASE FOR REJUVENATION 79 

evidences of bygone mining activities—several dumps 
of rather large proportions, and above them tunnels 
in the side of a hill. They left their horses on the 
level land and clambered up among the rocks, to find 
that, in some past day, a great deal of work had been 
done. 

They investigated for an hour or more, and then a 
voice hailed them from a distance, and they saw the 
gigantic figure of Shirttail Henry approaching along 
the floor of the pass. He came straight toward them, 
negotiated the hillside with ease, and made his pro¬ 
found bows all around when he reached them. 

“No rain a-tall,” he announced morosely. “That 
cloud was gone before I got there. I’m glad ye left 
Leach an’ Morley behind. I wanted to talk to ye 
alone about these here claims here.” 

A few words sufficed to apprise him of the unex¬ 
pected decampment of the designing opal miners, and 
the recital brought forth Shirttail Henry’s cackling 
“Heh-heh-heh.” 

“I ain’t a-tall s’prised, ma’am,” he told Charmian. 
“They’re ornery, them two boys. This ain’t th’ first 
time they tried to sell these ole abandoned opal mines 
to some one.” 

“Abandoned mines?” puzzled Charmian. 

“Course,” said Henry. “That’s what they are. 
Twenty year ago they was a lot o’ fine stones took 
outa here. There’s lots o’ opal here yet, but it ain’t 
got any fire. Ye see, ma’am, it takes time for an opal 
to gather its fire. The fellas that staked out these 
claims got rich. I know they sold one stone they found 


8 o 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


for ten thousand dollars—one of the biggest prices 
ever paid for an opal. But the good stones run out, 
so they abandoned the claims. Then Leach an’ Mor- 
ley filed on ’em just to have somethin’ to sell to some 
sucker. In time the opals here will gather their fire, 
but you folks wouldn’t be here to mine ’em.” 

“How long does it take an opal to get its fire?” 
asked Charmian. 

“Oh, matter of a hundred thousan’ years,” said 
Henry. 

“Good night !”exclaimed the widow. “If we’d bought 
the claims, Doctor, you’d have had a good chance to 
prove the efficacy of rejuvenation by the gland treat¬ 
ment. Well, that for the opals!”—and she snapped 
her fingers. “They’re unlucky, anyway. Mary Tem¬ 
ple says so. Now, Mr. Henry, what do you know 
about an undiscovered or an unexplored valley some¬ 
where up in the mountains?” 

“I know she’s there, ma’am—that’s about as much,” 
answered the mountaineer. 

“Have you ever seen it?” 

“Onct—from the top of a high peak. But nobody’s 
ever been there. They tried it—lots of ’em—an’ 
failed to make it. It can’t be done. Who told ye 
about that valley—Leach an’ Morley?” 

“Yes,” said Charmian. “But I don’t agree with you 
when you say it can’t be done. We’ll pay you well to 
show us the valley from the peak that you mention, 
and for any hints or suggestions about reaching the 
valley that you can give us. Also, we want to find a 
certain mountain meadow that Morley told us of, 


A CASE FOR REJUVENATION 81 

where we can pasture our horses and such burros as 
we won’t need in the undertaking. What do you 
say?” 

“I’ll help ye out,” Shirttail Henry promised. “An’ 
I’ll tell ye all I know. That’s more’n most of ’em in 
the Shinbone Country know, at that. But ye’ll never 
make it, ma’am. When I take ye to th’ top o’ the 
peak, where ye c’n see all over this country, ye’ll know 
I’m right.” 

“Well, we’ll do our best, anyway,” Charmian told 
him. “And we’re ready to begin when you are.” 

“Poor time o’ year to tackle a job like that. Better 
wait till May or June next year.” 

“We’ll go as far as we can at any rate,” Charmian 
decided. “Then if we fail we will know better how 
to go about it to succeed next summer.” 

“All right,” said Henry. “I’m ready now.” 

“Then if you’ll wait here for us we’ll ride back and 
break camp at once. We haven’t an extra horse for 
you, so—” 

“I never fork a hoss, ma’am,” Henry interrupted. 
“I c’n go where a hoss can’t with these here ole legs 
here. You ride; I’ll hoof it. Don’t worry about Shirt- 
tail Henry gettin’ there time yer hosses do, ma’am.” 


CHAPTER X 


SHIRTTAIL BEND 

S HIRTTAIL HENRY walked ahead up the 
mountain trail, Ichabod Crane come to life. His 
loose-jointed figure shuttled about as if the huge 
trunk were threatening to topple from the legs that 
shook it with their gigantic strides. His loose clothes 
fluttered in the wind, adding to the shimmylike effect. 
But Henry covered ground. 

The four who had undertaken the exotic adventure 
followed on their horses, urging the complaining 
burros ahead of them. When practicable Charmian 
rode with Andy, Shonto with that attitudinized wet 
blanket known as Mary Temple. 

Hours ago the party had left the level reaches of 
the desert. They now were ascending sharply into a 
rarer atmosphere, and the yuccas, cacti, sage and grease- 
wood had surrendered to junipers, pinon pines, and 
an occasional taller conifer. The trail twisted about 
the heads of deep canons in S curves, U curves, and 
abrupter V’s. Now and then a break in the ever- 
thickening forest revealed the yellow desert below 
them like a gigantic slice of buttered bread. Birds 
and squirrels inhabited the trees. Once a big buck 
bounded across the trail ahead of them, tiny front hoofs 

touching his breast as he shot himself forward and 

8 2 


SHIRTTAIL BEND 


83 

upward like an airplane leaving the earth. The trees 
and the wild life made a pleasing relief from the barren 
wastes below. 

For the remainder of the day they climbed, camping 
at noon on the trail. As the day drew toward its close 
they found themselves surrounded by a vast forest, 
primeval as Evangeline’s, with no view of the desert 
offered. As dusk descended upon the mountains the 
trail began to grow painfully steeper, and then it swung 
about the brow of a rise in a long curve. Henry paused 
and looked back at his followers. 

“This here long curve here is Shirttail Bend,” he 
announced. “My cabin’s just around th’ corner.” 

The land rose sharply at the middle of the hairpin 
curve, and horses and burros panted as they struggled 
upward. They then reached a level shelf in the moun¬ 
tainside, a small plateau of perhaps five acres. In the 
centre of it, with the trail leading directly by, stood the 
tumbledown cabin of the erratic weather man. 

The cabin was built half of logs, half of boards 
from the lumber mill. A huge stone chimney prom¬ 
ised the warmth of an open fireplace within. Climb¬ 
ing vines fingered the walls of the structure. A spring 
above it was the source of a tiny stream that trickled 
across the dooryard and fed a mat of watercress. 
Henry had gooseberry bushes and currant bushes, and 
there was a pear and apple orchard of a dozen trees. 
The water from the spring eventually found its way 
into a man-made ditch, from which it seeped onto a 
small patch of frost-nipped alfalfa. 

Henry’s dooryard was cluttered with every imagina- 


8 4 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

ble thing that had seen its day, from a grindstone 
whose three remaining legs sagged rheumatically be¬ 
neath it to a hay rake with one wheel and a depleted 
set of teeth. There were pieces of rusty iron of all 
descriptions, old sets of hames, wagon wheels, joints 
of gaspipe of all sizes and lengths, lopped-over wagon 
seats, one of which had been hung as a swing, in¬ 
numerable chains, sleds, broken pack-saddles, chicken 
coops upside-down, spewing mattresses, axles, an an¬ 
cient dresser minus its mirror and resting placidly on 
its back, the iron-and-wood pedestal of an office swivel 
chair—and from every tree hung chains, frayed ropes, 
wagon-seat springs, iron hounds, countless horseshoes, 
more hames and other fragments of harness, and steel 
traps of every size. All these treasures, Henry con¬ 
fided to his guests, he had brought in, piece at a time, 
on the back of Lot’s Wife or his own sturdy shoulders, 
imagining that “sometime they might come in handy.” 
Often he had been obliged to dismember the larger 
pieces of junk—the hay rake, for example—and pack 
them in by sections. “Un Rincon Confusion,” Char- 
mian promptly christened the place, which in Spanish 
is equivalent to “A Corner of Chaos.” Mary called 
it a whompus—which, she interpreted, was either a 
dish that she made of left-over boiled potatoes, bread 
crumbs, and sage, or a dog’s breakfast. 

But the home was picturesque and quaint, and the 
smells of the virgin forest all about were sweet and 
bracing. The light mountain air hinted at frost. In¬ 
numerable birds twittered their good-night melodies in 
the treetops. Frogs croaked in satisfaction in the 


SHIRTTAIL BEND 


85 

ditch that watered the alfalfa. A few hens troubled 
with insomnia loitered about the yard, crooning to 
themselves as they pecked hopefully at pebbles that 
looked like grain. The brook sang softly its unchange¬ 
able song of the days when the mountains heaved as 
the earth grew cold, the travail that gave it birth. 

“Just make yerselves to home, folks,” invited the 
mountaineer. “Ye c’n turn yer stock on th’ ’falfy if 
ye ain’t afraid o’ founderin’ ’em. Lot’s Wife she don’t 
care for ’falfy. She likes to browse offen th’ sage an’ 
bresh. I’ll look at my rain gauge, an’ then I’ll chop 
some wood and we’ll get a fire goin’.” 

He fluttered to the alfalfa patch and gave studious 
attention to something on the ground. Then he re¬ 
turned to the tired party, and sighing, “Not a drop!” 
he began helping to off-saddle the steaming animals. 

The quartette left Henry to his own domestic seren¬ 
ity in the little cabin, themselves camping at a decent 
distance from the house on a spot where Henry had 
neglected to distribute his heterogeneous treasure 
trove. They built a cheery campfire, over which Mary 
Temple cooked supper. Then when Shirttail Henry 
had rejoined them they settled down for a discussion 
of the morrow’s undertaking. 

“She’s a rarin’ trip,” Henry said discouragingly. 
“First ye gotta finish climbin’ this here mountain here, 
and then ye’ll come on a level valley where they’s a 
lake. They’s salt grass and bluejoint around the lake, 
but the frost’s ketched it by now, an’ it’ll be dryin’. 
Yer stock’ll eat it, though, and fatten on it. An’ that’s 
th’ place to pasture ’em till ye get back ag’in. 


86 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

“So now we’ve disposed o’ th’ critters. An’ then 
we hike across th’ valley an’ cut up a canon on th’ other 
side. In th’ canon they’s a crick that empties into th’ 
lake. Well, then we folly that crick for ten miles, 
maybe—an’ it’s a job. All boulders bigger ner my 
cabin, an’ down trees an’ th’ like. Well, then we’re 
pretty high up, an’ now we cut across through th’ tim¬ 
ber towards Dewlap Mountain. That’s where we’re 
headin’ for. 

“Now and then we’ll be seein’ th’ mountain, but not 
often. We gotta go by compass—at least you folks 
would. I go by guess and by gosh. Well, then, that’s 
a matter o’ twenty mile to th’ foot o’ th’ peak, and up 
it’s a heap more. 

“Now not a few folks have made this side o’ Dew¬ 
lap Mountain, but mighty few ever got on th’ other 
side. I done it, and so has Reed. That’s th’ forest 
ranger that first saw th’ undiscovered valley. Gettin’ 
’round on th’ other side o’ the mountain is where th’ 
rub comes in—that is, th’ rubbin’est rub. The top o’ 
th’ peak’s above th’ line of perpetual snow, an’ up 
there, besides, it’s all rocks an’ steep places till ye can’t 
rest. It’s skeery gettin’ ’round to th’ other side; an’ 
many a time ye wisht ye hadn’t come, when ye look 
down on what’s below ye—or what ain’t below ye. 
But I made her an’ Reed he made her, an’ ye gotta do 
it to see the undiscovered valley. But gettin’ to the 
toes o’ Dewlap Mountain ain’t no fun neither.” 

Shirttail Henry came to a thoughtful pause. The 
firelight played on his kindly, rugged features as he 
sat tailor-fashion and gazed with his dreamy blue eyes 


SHIRTTAIL BEND 


87 

into the blaze. His was almost a poetic face, Char- 
mian thought, as she studied what was revealed of it 
above the flaring torch of whiskers. 

“Seems to me,” the mountaineer went on softly, 
“that, when all’s said an’ done, this time o’ year’d be 
about th’ best to tackle th’ trip. Ye see, th’ snow’s 
been meltin’ all summer, more or less, an’ so fur this 
season they ain’t any fell yet. So right now th’ snow’s 
at her shallowest depth up on that there mountain 
there. An’ ye might get in an’ out before snow begins 
to fly, if luck was with ye. 

“And I thought of another thing: They was a big 
fire up in thataway this summer, an’ maybe it took out 
a part o’ th’ big bresh stretches that lies between th’ 
head o’ the canon an’ th’ toes o’ Dewlap. If it done 
that th’ trip’ll be lots easier. But we’ll know more 
time we tried her.” 

“Is it necessary to go over Dewlap Mountain to 
reach the Valley of Arcana?” asked Charmian. 

“Well, no, ’tain’t,” replied the weather man. “Con¬ 
trary to that, ma’am, she’d be a fool way to go about 
it. Ye go up there to see th’ valley; but to get to her 
ye’d oughta go round th’ mountain. That’s th’ way 
Reed went. He tried both sides. But he never made 
th’ riffle. It can’t be done.” 

“Why?” 

“Chaparral that ye can’t get through an’ walls o’ 
rock that can’t be climbed.” 

“And how about Lost River?” 

“That’s another proposition, ma’am. Lost River’s 
forty mile to th’ north o’ Dewlap Mountain, an’ about 


88 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

th’ same distance from yer Valley of Arcana. Over 
toward th’ Alondra Country, where they’s an Indian 
reservation that’s got gold on it. Leach an’ Morley 
they got run out for pannin’ gold on that reservation, 
an’ gov’ment agents was after ’em for a spell. That’s 
how come it they know about Lost River, ma’am. But 
if Lost River runs through yer valley, that ain’t no 
help to ye.” 

“I thought that perhaps we might build a canoe and 
drift down the river underground to the Valley of 
Arcana,” Charmian stated simply. 

“Holy sufferin’ cats!” bellowed Shirttail Henry. 

Even Andy and Dr. Shonto laughed at the girl’s 
naive assurance. 

“You’ve been reading fantastic fiction, Charmian,” 
said Andy. “That’s a pipe dream.” 

“Perhaps,” half conceded the young widow, unper¬ 
turbed. She turned her brown eyes on Henry again. 
“But why climb to the peak of Dewlap Mountain 
merely to gain a view of the valley?” she asked. “Why 
not circle the mountain when we reach it and try for 
the valley itself?” 

“Too late in th’ season,” Henry maintained. “Th’ 
snow she’d ketch us, ma’am.” 

“I’m not afraid of snow. I’ve roughed it in Alaska. 
Any snow you’d have here would be a joke, compared 
with what I’ve experienced.” 

“Pretty cold joke sometimes,” Henry remarked. 
“But I been thinkin’ ag’in, ma’am: Reed he always tried 
to make th’ riffle in summer, an’ then th’ snow over 
thataway’s deepest. An’ in winter blizzards are 


SHIRTTAIL BEND 89 

blowin’, an’ ye can’t do nothin’. Same as in th’ case o’ 
gettin’ to th’ top o’ Dewlap, right now would be th’ 
easiest time to tackle th’ valley trip, after th’ snow’s 
melted all summer long. I guess Reed thought o’ that, 
but was afraid to tackle her with winter cornin’ on. If 
a body got ketched in that country after th’ blizzards 
started— Say, none o’ that in mine! He’d never 
come out, that’s all.” 

“Nonsense!” scoffed the girl. “The chances are 
that Reed didn’t have enough money to properly equip 
himself for a trip of that nature.” 

“No, Reed he ain’t got anything but his pay from 
th’ gov’ment—same as me. An’ th’ boys that tackled 
th’ trip with him two three times, they never had 
nothin’. If a body could get enough supplies in th’ 
country to stand a siege, come blizzard time, he might 
get through to th’ valley between storms. He’d want 
skis or snowshoes, though—and a heap o’ grub an’ 
things. Once he made th’ valley everything’d be jake. 
It’s like summer down in there, I’m thinkin’.” 

“I can ski,” Charmian announced. “So can Mary 
Temple. How about the rest of you?” 

Dr. Shonto and Andy shook their heads. Henry 
professed familiarity with snowshoes, but never in his 
life had he been on skis. 

“I reckon, after all,” Henry decided, “that skis 
wouldn’t do. Ye might enter th’ Valley of Arcana 
too pronto fer yer health. Snowshoes would be safest. 
You two men could learn to use them in no time, after 
ye’d practised a bit.” 

“I’m for striking out direct for the valley to-mor- 


9 o THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

row morning,” Charmian said suddenly. “What’s 
the use hemming and hawing about it? Nothing was 
ever accomplished by indecision. It’s a chance, and 
we take it—that’s all. If the storms were to hold off 
for any considerable time, Henry, how long ought it 
to take us for the trip in and out?” 

“I can’t tell ye, ma’am—never havin’ finished her.; 
But I’d say a month.” 

“A month! So long as that?” 

“Outside time, ma’am,” Henry explained. 

“And is there any possibility of winter holding back 
that long?” 

“Yes’m, they is. Ye never can tell what she’s gonta 
do. I’m a United States weather man, an’ I’m speakin’ 
from experience. One year winter she’ll set in as 
early as this. Next, they maybe won’t be any snow 
to speak of before Christmas. We’ve had three early 
winters hand-runnin’ now an’ I’d say it’s time for a late 
one.” 

“Will you go along, Henry, and show us the way?” 
the girl asked eagerly. 

“I been thinkin’,” Henry replied. “How’m I gonta 
tend to my weather reports?” 

“Take your gauge along with you, can’t you?” 

“I dunno ’bout that,” said Henry. “But if ye was 
to pay me well enough—” 

“How much will your services be worth?” 

Henry pursed his lips. “I get seven and a half a 
month for bein’ weather man,” he mused, “and, come 
next month, I’ll have a line o’ traps strung between 


SHIRTTAIL BEND 


9i 

Rustler Crick an’ Palance Ridge. If I’m lucky, I 
oughta clean up a hundred dollars at th’ traps th’ 
month we’d be gone. An’ then—” 

“I’ll give you two hundred and fifty dollars to take 
us to where we can continue on ourselves to the Valley 
of Arcana,” Charmian interrupted. 

“Well-1-1—” Shirttail Henry Richkirk puckered his 
lips doubtfully. 

“Or until we give up in despair,” Charmian supple¬ 
mented. 

Henry rose briskly from the fireside. “Be up an’ 
fed by six o’clock,” he said. “I’ll be ready.” 

He started to flutter toward his cabin when the 
sharp voice of Mary Temple stayed his steps. 

“Where are your snowshoes? Where is any grub 
sufficient to take these idiots on a trip like that?” she 
demanded. 

“Well, now, ma’am,” replied the weather man, “I 
think we c’n git more snowshoes at Mosquito Ranch, 
which is halfway up this here mountain here from my 
place to th’ lake. I got two good pair myself. An’ 
we c’n git a beef critter killed for us at the ranch an’ 
freeze th’ meat an’ take a lot of it along with us. Be¬ 
sides, I got a lot o’ jerky, which comes in mighty handy 
when everything else has give out.” 

“Have you any soap?” asked Mary crisply. 

“Why, yes’m—I got a whole case of her that’s 
never been opened.” 

“Take it along,” said Mary. 

“Why, Mary Temple!” cried Charmian. “What 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


92 

need have we for a hundred cakes of soap? Think of 
the weight it will add to the pack, which weight ought 
to be composed of something to eat.” 

“Henry himself will need half a case,” said Mary. 
“Don’t for a minute imagine, Charmian Reemy, that 
I mean to live like an Indian on this fool trip. Sup¬ 
plies are supplies, and no supplies are complete with¬ 
out an ample amount of soap. Henry, did you think 
about the snowshoes and the beef when you proposed 
setting off at six o’clock to-morrow morning?” 

“Well, now, no’m,” Henry confessed, shifting his 
great weight from one huge foot to the other. “Maybe 
I just didn’t,” he added weakly. 

“And you didn’t want to go until Charmian prom¬ 
ised to pay you even if the expedition failed, did you?” 

“I didn’t say that, ma’am,” poor Henry tried to 
defend himself. 

“No, you didn’t. But your legs did when you jumped 
up so suddenly. Henry, do you know that, probably 
because of your great service to the government as 
weather man, the United States Navy has a war ship 
named after you?” 

Henry’s blue eyes bugged. “No’m, I didn’t,” he 
gasped. “D’ye honestly mean to tell me they got a 
ship they call th’ Richkirk?” 

“No,” said Mary Temple. “It’s called the Marble¬ 
head. Good night.” 


CHAPTER XI 


THE TRAIL TO MOSQUITO 

f 

4 NDY JEROME was up early the following morn- 
ing, even before Shirttail Henry was astir. He 
went to the creek, broke a thin sheet of ice, and 
washed his hands and face. Then, quite proud of his 
achievement, he stepped briskly back to camp to start 
a fire, only to find that newly laid kindling had been 
lighted while he was at his toilet. 

Now came Mary Temple, her lean arms encircling 
a big load of Henry’s firewood, proving that she herself 
was still supreme as the early riser of the party. 

“Well, Mary, you’re a wonder!” Andy praised her. 
“I thought that for once I’d beaten you to it. Good 
morning.” 

“Get another armload of wood,” said Mary. “Good 
morning.” 

Andy returned from the wood pile and let his burden 
clatter on the ground. 

“What’s for breakfast?” 

“Beans.” 

“Good! Beans are the stuff in camp, all right.” 

“They’re the stuff in the Palace Hotel,” said Mary. 
“Beans conquered the West. They won the war. 
They’re—” 

“Oh, don’t tell me about the marvellous bean,” 


93 


94 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

Andy cut in. “I’ve always been a bean hound. And 
I’ll bet you can cook ’em, too. You’re a wonderful 
cook, Mary, do you know it?” 

“I’ve hinted as much to myself a couple of times,” 
Mary sniffed. “But I’m nothing compared with my 
brother Ed.” Mary was diligently searching in a pack- 
bag as she talked. 

“That so?” 

“Yes, Ed was a master cook—a chef. He worked 
for one of the big bean-canning factories back East 
until they fired him.” 

“That was too bad,” Andy sympathized. “What 
was the difficulty?—if I’m not too inquisitive.” 

“Ed killed a woman,” Mary explained, still fumbling 
in the bag. 

Andy said nothing; the topic of their conversation 
seemed to be growing a little delicate. 

“Killed a woman he’d never seen,” Mary added. 

“Mary Temple, are you trying to kid me?” asked 
Andy warily. 

“To this day we don’t know her name,” Mary went 
on, still searching. “But we know Ed killed her.” 

“Spring it—I’ll bite. How’d he kill her? 

“He put two bites of pork in a can of pork and 
beans instead of one,” said Mary. “And I know the 
woman that opened that can dropped dead. Anyway, 
they fired Ed for wasting the company’s profits.” 

She stood erect with a can-opener in one hand and 
a large can labelled Pork and Beans in the otjier, and 
without a smile began the conflict between them. 
“Better wake the doctor,” she advised. “The wonder- 


THE TRAIL TO MOSQUITO 95 

ful cook will have breakfast ready in no time this morn¬ 
ing. She and you and the doctor can draw straws for 
the pork—I don’t care for it. Here comes the good 
ship Marblehead.” 

Andy chuckled. He liked this droll, gaunt Mary 
Temple who was so devoted to the girl he loved. “And 
do you never expect to find more than one bite of pork 
in a can of pork and beans?” he asked. 

“I’d as soon think of finding the Valley of Arcana,” 
Mary replied. 

With a brief “Good mornin’, ma’am” Shirttail 
Henry passed Mary Temple at the campfire and went 
to his tumble-down stable. When Andy had awakened 
Dr. Shonto and had received a feeble response to his 
call from Charmian, he returned to Mary, to find 
Henry there with a slim sledge that he had found 
among his belongings. 

“Thought she might come in handy,” he grinned. 
“If we c’n pack her on one o’ th’ burros, she’ll carry all 
our truck when we leave the critters and keep on afoot. 
Can’t use her, though, lessen it snows. But I thought 
we’d better take her along.” 

“Good idea,” said Andy lightly, and turned to Mary, 
who was pointing to a small die of fat pork, a tiny 
monument in the pan of sizzling beans. 

“I found it,” she announced grimly. 

A great deal of time was consumed after breakfast 
in packing the twelve burros, for among the party 
only Shirttail Henry was an expert at the art. He 
was careful in his preparations, and when all was ready 
for the start nobody could think of anything necessary 


g6 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

that he had omitted from the pack. He hazed the 
little animals into the trail and followed them on foot, 
the remainder of the party bringing up the rear on 
their saddle horses. 

The morning was crisp, the air tingling with frost. 
The thud of the animals’ hoofs came clear and distinct, 
for the ground was frozen and an uncanny hush dwelt 
in the heavy forest through which they passed. The 
saddle horses frisked about, shying at this and that 
familiar object, and their nostrils shot forth white 
steam, even as the nostrils of fearsome dragons shoot 
forth smoke and fire and brimstone. Squirrels scurried 
rattlingly over dead leaves from their interrupted 
breakfasts, to twitch their grey plumes and wrinkle 
their muzzles at the travellers from the security of 
lofty branches. 

“Great morning to start our adventure,” commented 
Andy Jerome, as they came upon a wide stretch of 
trail and he urged his horse to the side of Charmian’s. 

“Absolutely perfect,” Charmian agreed. “My, but 
my feet are cold! Andy, I wonder if we are absolute 
idiots, after all. Sometimes I think that, if Doctor 
Shonto weren’t with us to lend the expedition an air of 
dignity and—well, consequence—I’d lose my nerve. 
You and I are mere kids, and don’t really know whether 
we have any business to undertake this thing or not. 
But Doctor Shonto is a man of brains and experience— 
a somebody—and it bolsters up my courage a lot to 
know that he is with us and seems to approve. Were 
you surprised at his coming along?” 

“Yes,” said Andy shortly. 


97 


THE TRAIL TO MOSQUITO 

“I wonder why he did come,” mused the girl. 

“That’s a simple question to answer,” Andy told her 
with boyish sulkiness. “He came because of you.” 

She looked at him quickly, then lowered her eyes. 
Charmian knew perfectly well that Andy Jerome was in 
love with her, and this knowledge did not distress her 
in the least. She did not know whether or not she was 
in love with Andy, but she knew that she liked to have 
his admiring eyes upon her and to note the little caress 
in his tones when he spoke to her in lowered accents. 
She knew now that Andy bitterly resented his friend’s 
interest in her. But, of course, womanlike, she pre¬ 
tended innocence. 

“Do you think the doctor is interested in me?” she 
asked. 

“Humph!” 

“Why?—do you suppose?” 

“Heavens and earth, Charmian! Wouldn’t any he- 
man be interested in a woman like you?” 

Charmian took a bold step. She was no unsophisti¬ 
cated debutante, this young widow from Alaska. The 
relations between the sexes were no closed book to her. 
She was modernly ready and willing to discuss the 
tender passion. It was an integral part of life, and no 
false modesty caused her to shrink from facing any of 
the realities. Furthermore, she was a woman, young 
and pretty and desirable, and she liked to utilize her 
world-old heritage of making all men admire her. 

“You don’t for a moment imagine that Doctor 
Shonto is in love with me, do you?” she asked, round¬ 
eyed. 


98 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

“Humph! Of course he is. And you know it as 
well as I do, Charmian.” 

She threw back her head and laughed, while Andy 
watched her frosty breath and suffered silently. 

“How ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “To think that 
a man of the calibre of Doctor Inman Shonto could 
consider me in such a light as that. Andy, you’re a 
scream!” 

“Then why is he with us?”—still gloomily. 

“That’s just what I’m trying to find out. But your 
answer is silly—stupid, Andy. But I suppose the 
novelty of the thing appeals to him, as it does to you 
and me. After all, the doctor is not so old. I find 
him quite naive and boyish at times. Only thirty-four. 
Why, a man shouldn’t begin to think of being serious 
until he has passed fifty. Henry Ford says, even, that 
he ought not to begin to accumulate money until he’s 
over forty. That from probably the richest man in the 
world! And the doctor doesn’t look a day over 
twenty-five, does he?” 

“I’ve never given his age much thought,” said Andy 
with impolite abruptness. 

“Don’t you feel well this morning, Andy? You 
seem so sort of grouchy.” 

“I’m feeling fine,” said Andy in the same stiff tones. 

There was a smile of vast complacency on Char- 
mian’s lips as she looked away from him off through 
the towering pines. She wondered if she loved this 
boy, who carried his heart so openly on his coatsleeve. 
He certainly was attractive in his handsome young man¬ 
hood. He would make an ardent lover. But what 


99 


THE TRAIL TO MOSQUITO 

else, she wondered? He seemed to do little or no 
thinking for himself. He just took life lightly and let 
things slide, never worrying, never striving for any¬ 
thing, never revealing any depth of soul in any of his 
varied moods. His family was well off, and he did 
not have to work. Neither did she have to work, for 
that matter; but she did work. She worked her mind. 
She pondered over many things. She forced herself 
into deep reveries, reveries which were not consumed 
with egotism. She thought of life and the problems 
of humanity, and always she strove to think con¬ 
structively. And thinking is the hardest work that one 
can do. 

Andy loved her—or thought he did. Quite well was 
she aware of that. And it pleased her. She wanted 
fine young men to love her. She could not help it. 
She— they —are born that way. Would men have it 
otherwise ? 

But Dr. Shonto ! The radiance with which the morn¬ 
ing had endued her transparent skin was heightened by 
the glowing thought. If she had swayed Shonto, either 
by her physical or her mental or her plain womanly 
charms, or all these combined (herself, in short), she 
had made a conquest to be proud of. Of course to 
marry him was out of the question entirely. The gulf 
of years was between them. But it was warmly satis¬ 
factory for her to realize that a man of his impor¬ 
tance had entered into her novel little game of make- 
believe discovery, and that he had not decided to come 
until she had assured him that she was serious in her 
desire to undertake the trip. And she was in nowise 


) 

o 


I 




1 


o 

V ) 


100 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


depressed over the thought that there was the remote 
possibility of her being in the wilds, on the great, ro¬ 
mantic adventure of which she had dreamed so many 
times, with two seemly men who both were in love 
with her. Born romancer that she was, Charmian 
Reemy could not have pictured, in her most fantastic 
dreams, a situation more likely to add a wondrous and 
thrilling page to a life that she had long ago decided 
to make as novel as she could. 

On up the trail the party forged, the labouring 
burros ahead, nibbling at this and that prospective 
edible along the way. The sun climbed high and 
sucked the frost from the stiff, chilled leaves. A clear 
sky overhung the mountains, and all was still. A stone 
clattering into a deep canon made much ado, for the 
reverberations of its fall came hollowly to the listeners’ 
ears. The bark of a squirrel as he revelled in the 
doubtful warmth of the autumn sun was heard for 
miles, for the mountains were steeped in that solemn 
hush that almost seems to sigh for another summer that 
has gone, a hush that bespeaks resignment to the dead 
days of winter yet to come. 

And so to Mosquito they came, and camped there in 
the middle of a half glad, half melancholy afternoon 
that dreamed its short hours away in golden silence. 


CHAPTER XII 

THE LAND OF QUEER DELIGHTS 

T HEY left Mosquito the next morning, their pack 
replenished with a generous supply of beef. 
Also, as the mountain ranch had a quantity of 
stores on hand, they were allowed to purchase enough 
to bring their supplies up to the limit of the burros* 
carrying capacity. So now, over a hundred miles from 
the desert ranch where they had left the automobiles 
and at the beginning of their gruelling march to the 
Valley of Arcana, they were as well equipped for the 
ordeal as at the very start. 

Four hours from Mosquito they topped the summit 
of the ridge, and looked down upon a smiling lake three 
miles in length by one in width. A carpet of dying 
grass surrounded the lake, near which but few trees 
grew, because of the strongly alkaline soil. They 
wormed their way down to the floor of the level moun¬ 
tain valley, and here they loosed the saddle horses 
and cached their equipment in a near-by canon. Shirt- 
tail Henry guaranteed that the animals would not stray 
from the grazing ground. Once more he took the lead, 
and, driving the reluctant burros ahead of him, worked 
around the eastern end of the lake. 

When they had completed a half-circle of the sheet of 
blue water and were on the south side opposite the 
grazing horses, Shirttail Henry made an abrupt turn 

IOI 


102 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

to the left and hazed the string of burros up a little 
creek. For two miles or more the creek flowed through 
virtually level land, with mountain meadows on either 
side of it. Then gradually the land grew steeper, 
and the creek banks narrowed. The forest grew denser 
as they left the valley, and before half an hour had 
passed they were in a country as wild and rugged as 
that below Mosquito Ranch. 

They camped for a late nooning before attempting 
the fierce climb that awaited them. When the burros 
had browsed an hour they were away again, up the 
ever narrowing canon. 

The little creek was a plunging torrent now, leaping 
over boulders, bellowing madly about snarls of ancient 
driftwood. Often there stood in the burros’ path a 
huge boulder or outcropping that it seemed impossible 
for them to surmount, but Henry always found a way 
to get them over or around each obstacle. The burros 
climbed like goats when forced to it. Several times 
the men were obliged to take off their pack-bags so 
that they could squeeze through some gateway between 
gigantic stones. 

The party was still in the canon when the early 
mountain night closed down upon them. They for¬ 
tunately had come upon a tiny level spot on which there 
was room to move about with comfort. Here they 
camped to await the coming of another day. 

The night was cold and still, the sky cloudless. 
Nevertheless Shirttail Henry set up his rain gauge, 
muttering that he could not imagine how he was to 
send in his report if the gauge showed moisture in 


THE LAND OF QUEER DELIGHTS 103 

the morning. But no rain or snow fell to discomfit 
him, and the weary trailers passed the night in peace. 

An hour after sunup the following day they came to 
the end of the canon, to find that the source of the 
creek was a series of springs in a hillside. From the 
springs Henry set a course southwest through unbroken 
forest land, across which the going would have been 
easy but for the fact that the trail led continually up 
and down over a seemingly endless system of ridges. 
The party would struggle wearily up one steep hill, 
only to be obliged to clamber and slide down the other 
side of it into a deep V-shaped canon—and then up the 
near side of another hill as steep as the one just 
mastered. Then down again, and up again—forever 
and ever, it seemed. 

“Henry,” said Mary, as they stood panting on the 
top of about the fifteenth rise that they had negotiated, 
“is this ever going to end?” 

“Why, yes’m,” Henry told her meekly. “These 
here little rises here get bigger and bigger until we’re 
top o’ th’ mountains. Then we begin to crawl.” 

“Crawl!” puffed Mary. “I’ve done nothing else but 
crawl up and slide down since we left the creek back 
there. I don’t feel like a human being any more. I’m 
a four-footed beast. I growl and show my teeth when 
a rock or a root gets in my way.” 

“But what I’m talkin’ about,” said Henry patiently, 
“is reg’lar crawlin’. Sure enough on yer hands an’ 
knees, ma’am. An’ f’r miles an’ miles at that. Th’ 
patch o’ chaparral we’ll have to go through ain’t got 
its match in th’ whole West, I’m thinkin’.” 


104 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

“Do you mean, Henry, that we’re actually to crawl 
for miles and miles? Like a father playing bear with 
his baby on the floor?” 

“Jest crawl, ma’am,” replied Henry softly. “Unless 
we cut our way through with th’ axes—an’ that would 
take forever ’n’ ever ’n’ after.” 

“And you realize that, do you, Charmian?” Mary 
asked of the head of the party. 

“Oh, yes—it’s all been explained to me,” Charmian 
assured her. 

“All right,” said Mary. “Then let’s find a place to 
eat. I’m so hungry I could eat quirkus.” 

“Which is?”—Andy’s question. 

“Quirkus,” Mary explained, “is the stuff you skim 
off the top of a kettle of fruit when you’re cooking it 
for canning. Or it’s the stuff that grows on the bottom 
of a watering trough in summer. Or sometimes it’s 
any soft stuff that you don’t know the name of, and that 
isn’t fit to eat, but looks too valuable to throw away.” 

They spent two nights in the forest, forging onward 
throughout the short, cold, crystal days in the same 
southwesterly direction, up and down, up and down, 
but always gaining in altitude. They had left the Cana¬ 
dian Zone and were well into the Hudsonian, which 
constitutes the belt of forest just below timberline. 
Lodgepole pine, Alpine hemlock, silver pine, and white- 
bark pine had replaced the Jeffrey pine, red firs and 
aspens of the life zone immediately below them. They 
were over eight thousand feet above the sea, Henry 
told them, when at last, about ten o’clock of the third 
day after leaving the creek, the woods began to grow 


THE LAND OF QUEER DELIGHTS 105 

thinner, and they encountered frequent patches of short 
chaparral, bleak and rugged and rock strewn. They 
were entering the Arctic-Alpine Zone, comprising an 
elevation of from ten thousand five hundred feet to the 
tops of the highest peaks. 

On and on, always climbing higher into an atmo¬ 
sphere more breath-taking, more crystalline. The 
chilled silences became awesome. Unfamiliar growths 
presented themselves, stunted, grotesque. An occa¬ 
sional patch of snow was crossed. A snow-white bird as 
large as a pigeon fluttered down to their camping 
ground, cocked his head on one side, and surveyed them 
with comical curiosity. A few grains of rolled barley, 
left by the wasteful burros, lay on the ground, for a 
small quantity had been brought along to tempt them 
back to camp when they wandered, browsing through¬ 
out the nights. The white bird pecked contemplatively 
at these, chattered his bill over one, and dropped it as 
unfit for avian consumption. As he hopped about, still 
intent on trying the unfamiliar particles that looked 
like food, his course took him directly over the foot of 
Charmian, who was standing very still and watching 
him. Utterly without fear of these human beings, he 
hopped upon the toe of her hiking shoe, and from that 
vantage point lifted his body and gazed about as a 
robin does for worms. 

“The dear thing!” breathed the girl. “I guess he’s 
never before seen a human being, and can’t have any 
conception of what brutes we are. I wonder if I could 
pick it up!” 

“Try it, urged the doctor softly. 


106 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

Charmian stooped, her hands outspread. The move¬ 
ment caused the bird to hop from her shoe, but it did 
not make away. The girl stooped lower and lower, 
outspread fingers on either side of it. Her hands 
closed in to within six inches of the warm, white body. 
The bird looked up at her and hopped oft sedately, 
without a sign of fear, but as much as to say, 
“Familiarity breeds contempt.” 

“I could have grabbed it, but I wouldn’t!” main¬ 
tained the widow. “But I did just want to touch it 
once!” 

They decided that their visitor was an albino robin, 
probably a native of the regions above the line of per¬ 
petual snow, and that never before had it seen a human 
being. 

“It makes me sort of shuddery,” said Mary Temple. 
“That’s no way for a bird to act, even if he is a country 
jake. It isn’t right that he shouldn’t be afraid of us. 
It’s uncanny—and this is getting to be mighty uncanny 
country. Things get queerer and queerer every day, 
and I feel queerer and queerer every hour. I can just 
barely breathe in this light air. My head is on a spree 
and my feet are dead drunk.” 

“It only goes to show,” argued Charmian, “how 
the wild creatures would consider us if only we were 
as decent as they are. There is no reason on earth 
why any wild thing should fear a human being. I 
have read arguments built up about the hypothesis 
that wild animals fear man instinctively, that they 
naturally recognize him as their master. More of 
man’s monumental egotism! When an animal distrusts 


THE LAND OF QUEER DELIGHTS 107 

man, that distrust is bred in him by reason of his an¬ 
cestors having been obliged to escape from human 
ruthlessness. Or the individual itself has suffered at 
the hands of man.” 

And not many days had passed before she proved, 
in part at least, that her contentions were correct; for 
the farther they forged into that untamed wilderness 
the more trusting the wild life became. Small, queer 
birds which none of them could name, most of them 
with long bills and heads that seemed almost as large 
as their bodies, followed them on the trail, perched 
above them in the chaparral and cocked their heads 
one side to stare down in puzzlement, and often flew 
to their very knees or alighted on their shoulders. 

Upward and ever upward, over the sprawling toes 
and then over the generous knees of Dewlap Mountain. 
The only bird seen now was an occasional rosy finch; 
the mammals encountered consisted of the Alpine chip¬ 
munk, the grey bushy-tailed woodrat, and that quaint 
and ingenious native of the bleak altitudes, the Yosem- 
ite cony. This little animal, called variously rock 
rabbit, little chief hare, pika, or cony, is less than seven 
inches over all, and, much more so than the rabbit, 
has a tail which “mustn’t be talked about.” It has 
short rounded ears, dense hair, and, though closely re¬ 
sembling the rabbit, it runs an all fours, with a hobbling 
gait. It never sits up on its haunches, as does the 
rabbit, nor does it leave the Alpine Zone for a warmer 
clime when blizzards rage. Its home is in rock slides, 
where it cuts, dries, and stores up hay for use when 
the land is covered deep with snow. Often the 


1081 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

travellers saw one perched on a lofty granite rock 
and heard its strange bleating cry of alarm. 

The actinic quality of the light in this Boreal Zone 
made the few plants that the trailers came upon present 
rare, pure colours delectable to the eye. Most of these 
plants were cushion plants, spread out over the barren 
rocks where a little soil had gathered, and from the 
centre of the cushion the flower stalks arose. The 
doctor named the golden draba, the Alpine flox, and 
others; but the yellow columbine—not a cushion plant 
—was most remarkable of all. On the highest peaks 
flourished the Alpine buttercup, the Sierra primrose, 
and small Alpine willow trees, not above an inch in 
height. And at the very outskirts of snow banks they 
discovered the steer’s head, a queer relic of pre-glacial 
times, whose flowers, modestly lopped over, resembled 
the heads of a sleepy bunch of cattle. Often this 
flower grew with snow all about it and seemed to 
thrive. 

They were in a land of nothingness—cold and 
bleak and comfortless. On all sides wastes of loose 
Stones and snow patches swept away from them. About 
them were the lofty peaks, so diamond clear in their 
dazzling whiteness that it pained the eye to look at 
them. They were crossing the knees of Dewlap moun¬ 
tain, making toward the south. They camped on 
windswept reaches, their mattresses the cold, hard 
rocks. Melted snow formed their water supply, and 
fuel that they had picked up in the warmer zone 
below them was nursed with miserly discretion. 

After a day and a night in this forbidding'land 


THE LAND OF QUEER DELIGHTS 109 

Shirttail Henry loosed the burros, for nothing grew 
for them to eat except the inch-high dwarf willows, 
and these were few. Burros will continue content 
for days and days without food or water, but Char- 
mian demanded their release after twenty-four hours 
of deprivation. With indignant snorts, they kicked up 
their heels, and the bell burro set a bee-line course over 
the backward trail. When they reached the Hudsonian 
Zone, Henry said, they would browse their way gradu¬ 
ally down through the Canadian, and into the Transi¬ 
tion, where they would find an abundance of chaparral; 
and later they would reach the horses at the lake and 
remain close to them until snow drove the entire band 
to the lower contours, from whence they might wander 
even to the home ranch on the desert. 

A rather serious catastrophe overtook the United 
States Weather Bureau on the day before the burros 
were released. Shirttail Henry had installed his rain 
gauge for the night, and had no more than turned his 
back on it when the bell burro was attracted by the 
brightness of its brass. She approached it with mincing 
steps, and, as is the custom of her kind, began trying 
to eat it. A burro seems incapable of deciding whether 
an object is for food by looking at it or smelling of it. 
He starts in to eat it, assuming that all things are good 
to eat until proved otherwise. The burro soon decided 
that in this instance she had made a grave mistake, 
and forthwith dropped the gauge. But not until the 
thin cylinder of brass had been dented and pinched 
in so that, as a recorder of the fall of rain, it was 
absolutely useless. 


no 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

Mary Temple witnessed the desecration, but shouted 
too late. Henry wheeled in time, however, to capture 
the miscreant. He held her by the leather band that 
encircled her neck, and to which her tinkling bell was 
fastened, and looked her fiercely in the eye. 

“Ass,” he said, “ye ain’t my canary, an’ I know ye 
ain’t got no sense. But if ye was mine, d’ye know 
what I’d do to ye? I’d hold ye by this here strap 
here, an’ I’d get me a club, an’ I’d take it an’ I’d 
knock yer gysh-danged head off. Heh-heh-heh!” 

Snow covered the greater part of the land where 
the explorers had loosed the asses. Henry rigged 
up his drag, and on it stowed the outfit. Henry and 
Andy took the lead ropes, and Dr. Shonto walked 
behind to push. By following a zigzag course the 
leaders were able to keep the sledge running upon snow 
for the greater part of the time, and when only bare 
rocks lay before them the party portaged the cargo 
and the sledge to snowy stretches beyond. 

Their up-and-down course continued, and many a 
slope taxed the strength of all to get the laden sledge 
to the summit. But the general trend was downward, 
for they were crossing the knees of Dewlap, the only 
divide which gave access to the country wherein lay the 
mysterious valley of their quest. Gradually, after days 
of slow travel, the snow patches grew fewer and fewer, 
and the air grew noticeably warmer as they worked 
downward into the Hudsonian Zone once more. Then 
altogether the snow disappeared; scattering trees 
greeted them, Alpine hemlocks, silver pines—trees 
more friendly, it seemed to the awed wanderers, than 


THE LAND OF QUEER DELIGHTS hi 

any they ever had seen before. They saw a wolverine 
—infrequent animal—a white-tailed jackrabbit, and on 
one rare day a pure white squirrel, with pink-lidded 
eyes, quite curious and friendly. 

They discarded the sledge, cached such tin-protected 
provisions as they could not carry on their backs, and 
forged on into a land of growing delights. They left 
the semi-bleak Hudsonian Zone above them and entered 
the friendly Canadian, where the Yosemite fox spar¬ 
row, the Sierra grouse, and the ruby-crowned kinglet 
greeted them; and among the mammals the jumping 
mouse, the yellow-haired porcupine, the Sierra chicka¬ 
ree, and the navigator shrew. The forest was heavy 
again, and there was firewood and the shelter of com¬ 
panionable conifers. Straight into the south Shirttail 
Henry led the way, down into a gigantic cup of the 
mountain range where grasses grew and sunlight 
flooded the land. 

The forest became patchy, broken by occasional 
mountain meadows, rubble slides, canons through which 
fires had spread their devastation and left sentinel trees 
and slopes covered with chaparral. Deep, impassible 
gorges forced them miles and miles to the east or the 
west, and sometimes turned them in the direction 
from whence they came. And in descending into one 
of these, after having followed its grim lip for many 
miles in search of a crossing, the redoubtable Mary fell, 
rolled down a steep incline, and terminated her mad 
descent in an ice-cold creek. 

“Well,” she remarked, as her anxious friends 
stumbled and slid down to her, “it’s lucky I landed 


112 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


close to water, for right here I stay until the rest of you 
forsake your life of sin and come back to me on your 
way home. I’ve sprained my ankle terribly. Two 
of you hold me while Doctor Shonto pulls my leg.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


AT TWO IN THE CANON 

T HOUGH the afternoon was not far spent, the 
party immediately went into camp in the gorge. 
If Mary’s sprain was severe, the doctor told 
the others gravely, it would be impossible for her to 
touch the injured foot to the ground for many days. 
The men might carry her back, but it would be next 
to impossible, and altogether reckless, to carry her for¬ 
ward. What were they to do? 

Mary was suffering silently beside the campfire, and 
the others had withdrawn to a distance to hold their 
conference. Then came her snappy voice: 

“That’s mighty impolite. I know what you’re talk¬ 
ing about. Come over here by the fire and I’ll relieve 
your minds.” 

When they had congregated about her she said 
placidly: 

“Now, there’s just one thing for you to do. That 
is to go on, and leave me here in the canon with enough 
grub to last me until you give up hope of ever finding 
the Valley of Tomfoolery. Which will be in a few 
days, at most, I’m thinking.” 

“Mary Temple,” Charmian told her firmly, “we’ll 
do nothing of the sort. We’ll stay with you till you 
can walk or carry you over the back trail right now— 


11 4 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

and that ends that. We were only trying to decide 
which of the tw r o would be the better plan.” 

“Charmian,” said Mary, “will you kindly remember 
that it is my ankle that is sprained. I’m running that 
ankle myself, and whatever I say that has that ankle 
for a subject goes. This is not the first time that I 
have been in the wilderness, and a little thing like 
this doesn’t trouble me in the least. This expedition, 
foolish though it is, means a lot to you. And I’m not 
going to allow you to come this far and have to give up 
because of me. You’ll see this thing to the bitter end 
or I’ll never move from this country, this canon, this 
fireside, or this rock on which I’m sitting. You, and 
all of you—even old Marblehead—have browbeaten 
me, bullied me, overrun me since we lost those rascals, 
Leach and Morley, on the desert. But now at last, 
because of my sprained ankle, I am in command of the 
situation. And I mean to be obeyed. You’ll leave me 
here, with provisions and an ample supply of firewood 
within arm’s reach, while you continue on to the end 
of the Bonehead Country. You’re not going to all 
this expense and deprivation and hardship for nothing. 
The sky’s still clear. Llenry’s late winter seems as¬ 
sured. You may not have another chance in years to 
even come as far as you have. And you’re going to 
shoot the piece while you’re about it.” 

“Why, Mary Temple!” laughed Charmian. “What 
atrocious slang!” 

“It’s time for slang,” Mary declared testily, 
the piece!” 


“Shoot 


AT TWO IN THE CANON 


ii5 

“But, Mary, it’s perfectly—perfectly hideous to 
leave you here in this God-forsaken wilderness all alone 
—and you a woman with a sprained ankle. Neither 
the doctor nor Andy will consent to such a thing.” 

“They’ll either go one way and leave me, or go 
the other way and leave me. This rock on which I’m 
sitting is my throne, and I won’t move from it until 
I have my way. I’ll die right here on this rock, I tell 
you, before I’ll give in one inch!” 

“But a mountain lion might attack you, Mary 
Temple!” 

“Goon! You talk as if I were good to eat! Lions 
don’t kill for the fun of it; they kill for meat. Only 
rats eat leather.” 

Dr. Shonto was regarding her thoughtfully. His 
examination of her ankle had puzzled him. It was 
not swelling, and when he felt the bones he had been 
unable to detect any evidence of sprain whatever. But 
her contorted features and white lips spoke plainly of 
pain. Now Mary surprised him by winking at him 
desperately, and, wondering, he held his peace. 

“Now all of you but Doctor Shonto go up the canon, 
around that bend, and stay there till we call you,” 
ordered Mary. “Maybe you can talk some sense into 
one another’s heads. I want the doctor to examine 
my ankle, and I’m too modest to have the bunch of you 
staring at me.” 

With a queer look at Shonto, Charmian led the way 
up the canon for Henry and Andy, and they went out 
of sight around the bend. 


ii 6 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

“Well, Mary, what’s all this about, anyway?” asked 
the doctor. “You haven’t sprained your ankle, and 
you know it as well as I do.” 

“Of course not,” replied Mary complacently. “But 
I’ve broken at least a couple of ribs.” 

“What!” 

“I didn’t want Charmian to know.” 

“Are you in pain?” 

“Doctor,” said Mary, “if you ever tell Charmian 
that I said what I’m going to say I’ll never, never 
speak to you again. It hurts like hell! There—now 
you know, I guess.” 

“Well, for the love of Mike!” gasped Shonto. “Let 
me help you into your tent. Strip to the waist in there, 
while I rummage through the pack for my supplies.” 

“I don’t need your help,” snapped Mary. “You 
forget that my ankle isn’t sprained. I can walk, but 
I can’t crawl. And we’re getting close to the crawling 
ground, Henry tells me.” 

“Oh, I understand,” said Shonto. 

Nevertheless he helped her to her feet and held 
her arm as she walked slowly and painfully to her and 
Charmian’s tent. The doctor pawed through the pack, 
found his medicine case, and brought forth a tin spool 
of wide adhesive plaster. A little later, stripped to 
the waist and blushing furiously, Mary Temple came 
from the tent and stood before him. 

Shonto’s skilful fingers kneaded her torso as gently 
as possible, but Mary’s lips were colourless and beads 
of perspiration stood out on her forehead. 

“That hurt?” 


AT TWO IN THE CANON 117 

“Humph! Of course!” 

“And that?” 

“I guess you know it does as well as I do.” 

“Well, Mary, I guess you’ve cracked one of them,” 
remarked Shonto, after his careful examination. 

He stepped behind her and flattened one end of a 
strip of adhesive plaster at the middle of her back, then 
brought it around to her right side. 

“Now get all the breath out of you,” he ordered. 
“Deflate your lungs as much as possible.” 

Mary took a deep breath, and then obediently blew 
lustily through her white lips until her lungs were free 
of air. As her chest went down, Shonto put his 
strength on the plaster and brought it around the 
front of her body, binding her tight. He put on one 
more strip, then told her he could do nothing else 
for her—that the plasters would hold the rib in place 
while it was knitting, and that, at her age, nature 
would not complete this process until the end of about 
three weeks. 

“Don’t let Charmian know anything about it,” cau¬ 
tioned Mary, coming from the tent again. “I’ll keep 
on pretending that I sprained my ankle. She’d worry 
if she knew I had a rib broken. And I could manage 
to walk back this way, couldn’t I, Doctor?” 

“Yes, if you walked slowly and carefully you might 
get by.” 

“That’s what I thought. In fact, I’ve had a broken 
rib before, and while it pained me a lot—especially 
in bed at night—I was able to move around. So make 
Charmian think my ankle is sprained and that I can’t 


118 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

walk a step. Then she’ll think it’s just as well for the 
rest of you to go on for a few days as to turn back— 
seeing that I can’t walk either way. As I said, how¬ 
ever, I can walk, after a fashion, but I can’t crawl a 
single inch. You get the idea, don’t you? I don’t 
want to break up the expedition.” 

“But, Mary,” he reminded her, “you have been 
against it from the start. It strikes me that now you 
have an excellent excuse to call it off.” 

“Oh, I’m against everything, Doctor,” she chuckled 
grimly. “At first, anyway. I have to be to keep 
Charmian from going to extremes. Did you think 
for one moment, back there at El Trono de Toler- 
ancia, that I’d allow her to go on this wild-goose 
chase without me? Not in a thousand years! And 
last night, before we went to sleep, she told me some¬ 
thing, with her head resting on my lean old shoulder, 
that would keep me going to the end of time if she 
asked it.” 

“And what was that?” asked Shonto. 

“Well, that queer country we just passed through 
seemed to work a sort of spell over her. Up until 
we struck the high altitudes this thing has been more 
or less of a lark with her. But up there, it seems, 
the queer things she saw made her mighty thoughtful. 
That was a weird, queer country, you’ll admit your¬ 
self. It gave me the creeps; but it fired Charmian 
with the realization that this is, after all, a big under¬ 
taking, and that there’s nothing foolish or childish 
about it. 

“Charmian always wanted to do something dif- 


AT TWO IN THE CANON 119 

ferent—something outstanding. She hates a common¬ 
place existence. She told me last night that at last 
she saw a way to realize her ambition. Other women 
have climbed the Alps, she said, explored the Andes, 
and nosed into all sorts of queer places. She said 
that she had the strength and the courage to do as 
much as any woman can. And she thought her trip 
to the Valley of Arcana would make a good begin¬ 
ning. It really amounted to a lot, she said, for a girl 
to be the first, so far as anybody knows, to enter that 
hidden valley. It would add something to the geo¬ 
graphical knowledge of the state, and who knew what 
she might not discover? 

“I never before saw her so enthusiastic over any¬ 
thing. And now that she has come so far, I’d be the 
last one on earth to turn her back. So you must go 
on—you and Charmian and Andy and Marblehead. 
I can live here quite comfortably till you get back. 
I’m used to it—but I know now that I am too old to 
have considered coming along.’’ 

“Mary,” said the doctor—and his unhandsome face 
was aglow with appreciation—“I am proud to know 
you. Your devotion to that girl is wonderful. But 
I think your present sacrifice is too great. Charmian 
will never—” 

Mary Temple lifted a lean hand to stop him. “I 
won’t have it any other way,” she said. “To-morrow 
a couple of you men go back to the cache and pack 
in all that you can of the provisions we left there. 
That will give me an assurance of plenty, and you can 
start out, loaded to capacity again, from this point. 


120 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

I’ll be all right. Don’t worry about me. And what 
better plan have you to offer, anyway?” 

“We could all camp here until you are fit to travel 
back,” suggested Shonto, “and then—” 

“Absolute nonsense!” Mary objected. “What’s the 
use in wasting your opportunity that way? Don’t try 
to be frivolously chivalrous, Doctor. This is no time 
for useless sentiment. Winter is close at hand, and 
this is a hard, hard country. It’s time to look at the 
matter seriously.” 

“I’ll go and talk with the others,” said Shonto 
abruptly, and swung away up the canon. 

It was a difficult situation. No one wanted to leave 
a middle-aged woman alone in that wild canon, with 
a vast, rugged wilderness between her and the com¬ 
forts of life. But Mary remained tyrannically obdu¬ 
rate, so they decided that they would think the matter 
over during the two or three days which it would 
take Andy and Shirttail Henry to go for more pro¬ 
visions and return. 

Early next morning the two set off on the back 
trail. The doctor busied himself at making a more 
or less permanent camp for Mary, provided they de¬ 
cided in the end to accept her ultimatum. Charmian 
spent hours at bringing her diary up to date. Mary, 
though in pain and obliged to move about with cau¬ 
tion, feigned a limp and kept busy in order to deceive 
Charmian. 

The afternoon of the third day of Henry and 
Andy’s absence brought boredom to all three. The 
sky still was clear as crystal, with no suggestion of 


121 


AT TWO IN THE CANON 

clouds; and down in the canon it was warm while the 
sun remained overhead. Mary was confined to camp, 
of course, but she insisted that Charmian and Shonto 
go on a short trip of exploration either up or down 
the gorge. 

The pair set off about two o’clock. The canon 
floor was a mass of nigger-head boulders, through 
which snaked the rushing green creek. The walls 
were all but perpendicular in places and of a height 
close to two hundred and fifty feet. Few trees grew 
near the floor of the canon, but there were number¬ 
less entanglements of driftwood from which to draw’ 
upon for fuel. 

The birds were singing their praise of the com¬ 
forting sunlight. Delicate ferns, unmolested by the 
frost, waved their green fronds above stones set in 
the canon walls, their stems upreared from soft, vari¬ 
coloured mossbanks as lustrous and yielding as Ori¬ 
ental rugs and sparkling with diamonds of dew. A 
pensive languor pervaded the canon, a sort of armis¬ 
tice between the mellow sun warmth and the gorge’s 
lifelong heritage of clammy coldness. It made these 
human beings moody. The warmth was the gipsy 
warmth of early springtime, when the smells of earth 
are sweetest, as, deep down within the soil, the sleepy 
seeds begin to rub their eyes and stretch in their great 
awakening to a short life of ceaseless struggles. The 
pair were moody because they realized that it was not 
spring, that the half-hearted promise of the sun was 
altogether insincere. And while they were susceptible 
to the indolence of this tantalizing afternoon, the false 


122 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


warmth stirred their blood and kindled their imagina¬ 
tions to deeds of high emprise and thoughts of life 
as it ought to be, but never is. They were filled with 
vague feelings of unrest; they spoke but little and 
dreamed ambitious girlish and boyish dreams. 

“Let’s sit down,” said Charmian, when they were a 
mile or more from camp. 

An ancient bleached pine log had drifted into a 
little nook of rocks, where it was upheld from the 
floor by short, broken-off, horizontal limbs to a con¬ 
venient height for a seat. It looked like a great white 
thousand-legged worm with porcupine quills in its 
back, said Charmian, as she seated herself between 
two of the upper-side stumps of limbs. 

“What a day!” she continued. “I never was more 
ambitious in my life, Doctor, but I just want to sit 
here and ambish with my eyes half closed. I didn’t 
know one could be lazy and ambitious at the same 
time. I imagine dope must affect one something like 
this. Gee, but I could slay pirates on the Spanish 
Main this afternoon—that is, if they’d move the 
Spanish Main up here to this log and I could keep 
from gaping long enough to draw my cutlass. Don’t 
know that I’d want to kill pirates, either—I’d rather 
be a pirate myself and murder honest people. But 
either would be an effort—unless I could sit here and 
slay ’em with the evil eye.” 

She made an arm-rest of one of the stumpy branches 
and sank her round chin in one hand. The posture 
pushed up one ruddy cheek and caused her red lips to 
show a pout, and that odd little upward flirt at one 


AT TWO IN THE CANON 123 

corner lent them an unconscious smile. The long dark 
lashes, so delicately upturned at the end, drooped 
downward. Her profile stood out clean-cut against the 
flimsy light of the winter sun. Her throat showed 
soft and dimpled and dusky. Her hoard of hair had 
loosened and slipped downward in artistic disarray. 
She relaxed, eyes half closed, and her sinuous body 
slackened as it settled into unrestrained repose. Her 
full bosom rose and fell as softly and smoothly as 
the oily ground swell of a lazy tropic bay. 

Inman Shonto likened womanly beauty to that of 
flowers. He knew lily girls and primrose girls, daisy 
girls and violet and pansy girls, even sunflower girls. 
But here was a rose girl—a great passionate American 
beauty rose, bold in colouring, strong and stanch, up¬ 
right and unafraid, dominant, outstanding amid the 
other flowers, but owner of all the loveliness and grace 
of the lesser blossoms, as delicate of texture and as; 
compelling in its tenderness. 

The firm, puckered, rather thick lips of Dr. Shonto^ 
made a corrugated horizontal line as he drank in the 
beauty of the picture the drooping girl unconsciously 
posed for him. He thought of his own pale-blue, 
eyes, his sparse sandy eyebrows, his thin, neutral- 
coloured hair, his pitted, Gargantuan nose. But he: 
straightened. He had the body of a gladiator, the: 
heart of a knight, the soul of a poet, and his intellect- 
had brought both fame and wealth to his feet. The 
doctor knew all this; he knew himself, his possibilities 
and his limitations. He wanted this girl—he deserved 
her—he had given up his important work to go with 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


124 

her on this impulsively planned expedition and shield 
her and win her. She was a combination of all that 
he desired in a wife. To let Andy Jerome take her 
away from him would be an injustice to all concerned. 
His brains and his character and his manhood had 
made an appeal to her, he felt. Were these attributes 
enough for her? Was not he possessed of attributes 
of sufficient worthiness to offer in exchange for her 
beauty and womanly charm? And some women, he 
knew, were strangely attracted by an ugly man who 
offers them virility and a masterful personality. And 
nearly all such women, he had noted in his vast expe¬ 
rience of life, were lovely women and intensely 
feminine. 

“Charmian,” he said suddenly, in a voice just loud 
enough to be heard above the boisterous laughter of 
the creek, “I’ve been thinking, since the night Andy 
and I first saw you at El Trono de Tolerancia, that 
maybe you’re the woman I have been waiting for and 
longing for ever since I became a man. I came upon 
this trip with you to find out if my intuition had told 
me right. It has. The last week of you has shown 
me that you and I will not be doing our full duty to 
life unless we are together.” 

Her supple body tensed a trifle, then relaxed again. 
Her long lashes had lifted until he saw the silken 
sheen of her dark eyes, but now they were dropped 
once more. 

“I’ll admit that I have gone about this thing with 
practicality,” he continued. “It is, perhaps, my scien¬ 
tific nature that caused me to. It’s better that way. 


AT TWO IN THE CANON 125 

It’s safest. Boys don’t make love as I am making 
it, but I’m no boy, though I’m none the less sincere. 
I look upon successful marriage as the ideal partner¬ 
ship. And you will realize when you are a little older, 
as I do, that companionship is the most important 
feature of married life. Don’t think that I don’t love 
you. I do—deeply. But I’m not offering you the 
blind, fiery, uncontrolled passion of a youth in his 
twenties. I’m offering you the sincere love of a ma¬ 
ture, reasoning man. What do you think of it?” 

Charmian Reemy opened her eyes and stole a quick 
glance at him. The colour in her face was heightened 
only a little; and, though her heart may have beat a 
little faster, she was not greatly confused. But a 
feeling of triumph glowed warm within her. That 
she, by the not consciously exercised force of her per¬ 
sonality and feminine charm, had intrigued this man 
of big achievements into a proposal of marriage was 
thrilling. 

He was so desperately in earnest that his homely 
face was transfigured. Facial ugliness she saw only in 
the light of great strength. His broad smile was win¬ 
ning, tolerant, unutterably tender. His eyes were 
kind, whimsical, wistful; and there was in them now 
a lustre that she never had seen glowing there before. 

Inman Shonto was not ugly now. The great soul 
of the man had enthroned itself in his countenance. 
The effect was spellbinding. 

Charmian had told herself that, if ever she mar¬ 
ried again, she would marry a big man, a man of 
accomplishment. Her husband had been a big man 


126 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


in his small way. He had been a money-maker, a 
George F. Babbitt, but the girl-wife had not been able 
to interest herself in his activities. He had created 
nothing, discovered nothing, added nothing to the 
knowledge or welfare of the race. Walter J. Reemy 
had been commonplace in every way—a man whose 
commonplace mind followed a daily routine of com¬ 
monplaceness. 

‘‘You and I, Charmian,” the doctor was saying 
while she dreamed, “can make our life together an 
ideal one. Won’t you even consider it?” 

She had closed her eyes again, but now she opened 
them and smiled at him half bashfully. 

“I am considering it,” she said. 

Shonto grasped her hand with eagerness and pressed 
it. “Thank heaven for that encouragement,” he 
whispered fervently. 

“But—but could I ever understand you?” asked 
Charmian. “I’m nothing—nobody—a dreamer. They 
say that I am pretty. If so, isn’t it merely that which 
has attracted you to me, Doctor? If we were mar¬ 
ried, wouldn’t you shut yourself away from me, treat 
me generously and courteously and devotedly, but at 
the same time never take me into your confidence? 
Don’t you want me merely as an ornament for the 
mantle of your success?” 

“Why should that be, Charmian?” 

“Haven’t you already declined to take me into your 
confidence about your work—about the glands? I 
didn’t ask much, did I? I wasn’t trying to pry into 
your secrets—the mysteries of your profession. I was 


AT TWO IN THE CANON 


127 

just looking for a little enlightenment on a subject 
that has interested me ever since it was brought to 
the attention of the general public. And you shut up 
like a clam.” 

Shonto’s face showed troubled lines. 

“I tried to explain, very carefully,” he pointed out, 
“that, in this instance, there is a peculiar reason why 
I cannot tell you what you want to know. But there 
may come a time when I shall feel at liberty to tell 
you all. Please trust me—and believe me when I say 
that, if you can look on my proposal in a favourable 
light, I will tell you everything. Don’t you think me 
worthy of such trust, Charmian?” 

There was a pleading note in his tones, though they 
were none the less manly, that caused her to say im¬ 
pulsively : 

“Of course I trust you. I know you must have an 
excellent reason for not talking over your work with 
me. I’m afraid I’m pretty much of a kid at times. 
Doctor. And I’ll—I’ll— Well, I’ll think about what 
you said. Oh, but what a matter-of-fact way we’re 
taking to talk about such a subject! I think— My 
goodness! Here comes Andy—alone!” 


f 


CHAPTER XIV, 

THE LONG STRAW 


A NDY JEROME came swinging down the canon 
with the stride of a conquering hero, straight 
and strong under a burdensome pack. Both 
Charmian and Shonto regarded him in admiration as 
he came—he was so handsome, so well fortified with 
the confidence of youth, so sure that his vigorous 
young manhood was a match for any obstacle. 

Charmian shouted and waved her hand. The home- 
comer waved back and sent the echoes cantering down 
the gorge after his long-drawn baritone whoop of 
greeting. 

“What can have happened to Henry?” the young 
widow murmured, half to herself. 

Shonto made no reply, but his face looked worried. 

“Well, for mercy’s sake!” cried the girl when Andy 
was close enough to hear her high-pitched words. 
“Where are you coming from? Where’s the weather 
bureau?” 

Andy Jerome came swinging on, slipping on the 
nigger-heads repeatedly, but always catching himself 
with the indifference that springy, always-ready mus¬ 
cles bequeath to youth. 

“Some trip!” he laughed. “I just naturally walked 
old Marblehead off his feet. Then I left him to die 
and made the rounds alone.” 

He reached them, eased his pack to the stones with 

128 


THE LONG STRAW 129 

a great sigh, and held out both hands to them—his 
right to Charmian. 

“Golly, I’m tired!” he ejaculated; but he looked as 
if any weariness that he might feel would forsake him 
after an hour’s rest. 

“Where is Henry?” asked Shonto soberly. “And 
how are you back so soon?—and coming down the 
gorge?” 

“Well, last question answered first, I’m hitting her 
up down the gorge because I discovered an easier 
route back than the one Henry brought us over. And 
Henry is on his way home to write a letter to the 
Weather Bureau for a new rain gauge.” 

“Andy, you don’t mean it!”—from Charmian 
Reemy. 

“Sure do. I couldn’t hold ’im. Thought I’d talked 
him out of shaking us, but in the night, while I was 
pounding my ear, he ups and beats it.” 

“But his money?” said Shonto. 

“Oh, I paid him in advance,” Charmian confessed 
with guilty reticence. 

“The old rascal!” the doctor snorted. 

“But I’m not worrying,” Andy continued. “He’d 
virtually told me how to find the Valley of Arcana, 
and it strikes me that he’s already about fulfilled his 
contract. I believe I can go straight to it from here. 
I’ll tell you later what I got out of him. 

“Personally, I won’t miss the old coot in the least. 
He’s not so much in the mountains. I walked the head 
off the old boy on the trip back to the cache. I let 
myself out—see?—which I couldn’t do in travelling 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


130 

with you folks—if you’ll pardon me. So I took our 
bold mountaineer on for a regular ramble, and I had 
him begging for less speed three hours out of camp.” 

“He’s quite a little older than you are, Andy,” 
Charmian made reminder. 

She did not exactly approve of Andy’s slightly 
boastful tone. Dr. Shonto caught the note in her 
voice, and hastened to say: 

“Don’t pay too much attention to our young 
friend’s high opinion of his own prowess. Ordinarily 
Andy isn’t the least bit boastful. But we’re living a 
more or less primitive life these days. Our existence 
may depend on what we can do with our legs and 
arms and hands. Surmounting the difficulties of this 
wilderness has become the most important thing in 
our lives. We must excuse one another for being 
primevally proud of our little achievements.” 

“Good work, Doctor!” laughed Andy, a trifle red 
of face. “Was I shooting the old bazoo too hard? 
Maybe so. Thanks for your explanation to Charmian. 
The doctor’s a wonder at keeping the serene equi¬ 
librium of camp life at par. He always understands 
that folks are different once they’ve shaken the dust 
of civilization from their feet. They’re more primi¬ 
tive—that’s right. 

“Well, to continue, old Henry has been worrying 
ever since the bell burro made a sandwich out of his 
old gauge. Reading that gauge and sending in his 
reports are the greatest things in life for him. And 
so—well, he just up and hit the trail, that’s all. He’s 
got a loose screw in his head, of course. So we were 


THE LONG STRAW 131 

camped at the cache, ready to start back in the morn¬ 
ing. And when I found he’d gone I knew right away 
what had happened and struck out at dawn alone. 
And—boasting or no boasting—I’ve brought all that 
I meant to pack in and at least half of what Shirttail 
Henry had laid out for his pack. So we’re not so 
bad off, after all. How’s our pillar of determination 
and her sprain?” 

The three walked down the canon toward their 
camp, Shonto carrying the pack. Andy told the 
others, as they stumbled over the round, smooth stone 
cannon balls of the creek-bed, what Shirttail Henry 
had divulged concerning the onward trail to the Val¬ 
ley of Arcana. 

When they had climbed the steep southern wall of 
the canon in which they were encamped they would 
find themselves on a wooded plateau, none too level. 
For several miles they would travel across timberland, 
then the trees would become scarcer and patches of 
chaparral would make their appearance. Gradually 
the chaparral would claim the land, and would extend 
for miles—how many he did not know—to the country 
immediately surrounding the valley of their quest. 
Halfway through this immense stretch of prickly 
brush Reed, the ranger, and his companions had been 
obliged to discontinue the trip. 

“But they always tried it in summer,” said Andy. 
“In summer or spring, when the air is hot and a fel¬ 
low needs a lot of water. It’s cool now—cold—and 
we won’t suffer much along that line. We’ll pack 
every drop of water we can and nurse it religiously. 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


13 2 

We won’t need much. Strikes me a fellow could catch 
enough dew over night to last him all next day. 
Stretch out a closely woven piece of canvas, maybe. 
And if it should rain or snow, we’d perhaps be mighty 
uncomfortable, but we’d be assured of plenty of 
water.” 

“Let’s not pray for either,” the girl suggested. 
“I’d rather chance a drought.” 

“For my part,” said Shonto, “I almost wish we 
could go back and give it up entirely. It’s going to 
be serious if winter overtakes us; and, because of the 
many delays we’ve been up against, it strikes me that 
that’s almost sure to happen.” 

“Can’t give up and go back now, with Mary unable 
to travel,” Andy reminded him. 

“Yes, that’s so,” sighed the older man. “We’re in 
for it now, and we may as well forge on as to twiddle 
our thumbs in the canon while Mary’s—er—sprain 
gets better. But I’ll tell you one thing: I’m never 
going to consent to leave that woman alone in the 
gorge, crippled as she is. Either you or I, Andy, must 
stay with her. Of course Charmian must go on, if 
anybody does; this is her circus. And as you are the 
expert mountaineer of the party, I have decided to 
stay with Mary. But it’s going to give me grey hairs 
whether I go or stay. If I go, Mary will be constantly 
on my guilty mind. If I stay with her, I won’t be 
able to sleep for worrying about you two.” 

“Shucks, Doctor! You’re not like yourself at all 
here lately,” was Andy’s complaint. “You used to be 
a sport—nothing was too rough for you.” 


133 


THE LONG STRAW 

“I never had a couple of women along with me be¬ 
fore,” Shonto defended himself. “And I don’t know 
that I’ve ever before been in quite so precarious a 
situation, Andy. It’s no difficult matter to become 
food for the coyotes in a country like we’re in.” 

All three were a trifle serious now and talked but 
little. Charmian and Andy agreed with Dr. Shonto, 
however, that it would be ungenerous to leave Mary 
Temple alone in this dismal gorge while they con¬ 
tinued the adventure. Andy had made no offer to 
stay and allow his friend to go with Charmian. His 
heart was leaping madly at thought of braving the 
trail into an unknown land with her alone. 

Mary Temple listened without a show of conster¬ 
nation to the story of Shirttail Henry’s duty-bound 
flight. 

“Well,” she observed dispassionately, “we seem 
destined to lose our support. First the Morleys and 
Leach threw us down, and now the good ship Marble¬ 
head goes on the rocks. He was more or less of a 
doodunk, anyway.” 

“What’s a doodunk?” Andy asked. 

“A doodunk,” she informed her questioner, “is 
something that makes a man say damn and a woman 
think damn. For example, a doodunk is a lumpy 
place in a mattress. But Henry’s going knocks some¬ 
thing galley west and crooked.” 

“What’s that?” Charmian wished to know. 

“With Henry out of it, who’s going to be the mad¬ 
man that leans over you and chokes you in the Valley 
of Arcana?” snapped Mary. “I hope you haven’t 


134 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

forgotten that, Charmian Reemy! You wait! 
Madame Destrehan knows—she saw it all!” 

Mary was not exactly in an amiable mood, but the 
others broached the subject of some one remaining 
with her, nevertheless. To their utter surprise, she 
made reply: 

“Well, I’ve been thinking that over myself this 
afternoon. I guess maybe you’re right, at that. Char¬ 
mian must go on—that’s settled. This is her fool 
party, and the rest of us are just invited guests. So 
either Doctor Shonto or Andy will have to stay with me, 
and the other one go on with Charmian and get the 
ridiculous thing over with while my ankle’s getting 
well.” 

“Now, neither of you two fellows want to stay 
with an old battleaxe like me. I know that. Just 
the same, all alone here in this cold, dark canon this 
afternoon, I changed my tune. So you’ll draw 
straws to see which one is elected. And as I’m the 
innocent party concerned, I’ll hold the straws. Suit 
you?” 

Her defiant eyes coasted from Shonto to the 
younger man. 

“Certainly,” both made answer. And Andy added, 
in tones none too strong: 

“Nothing could be fairer.” 

“All right.” Mary bent over—with difficulty and 
pain, the doctor noted—and took up from the ground 
a box of safety matches. She extracted two, closed 
the box and dropped it, and turned herself slowly on 
her rocky throne until her back was toward the ex- 


THE LONG STRAW 135 

pectant gamblers. “Got a piece of money, either of 
you?” she asked. 

Andy produced a silver coin. 

“Toss it up,” commanded the arbiter of their for¬ 
tunes. “Heads, the doctor draws first; tails, Andy 
gets first crack. And the one that draws the long 
match stays with me. What about it?” 

“Suits me,” both men said; and Andy flipped the 
half-dollar into the air. 

“Tails,” he announced as the coin rang on the 
stones. “I draw first.” 

Mary wheeled slowly back and faced them. She 
held out one big-veined and skinny hand, above the 
closed fingers of which two match-heads protruded. 

With a swift glance at his rival, Andy took a step 
and stood before her, hesitated a moment, then 
reached out and pulled a match. 

He caught his breath, turned red, and glanced con¬ 
fusedly at Charmian. 

He had drawn an entire match—the long straw. 
He was elected to stay with Mary Temple. 

“I don’t care if I did cheat,” Mary consoled herself 
as she sought her bed early that night. “They’ll 
never guess that neither match was broken. Andy 
had no chance to win—and I wanted it that way.” 

But at the same time that she was saying this Dr. 
Shonto sat alone over the red coals of the dying camp¬ 
fire. Charmian and Andy were strolling down the 
canon together under the light of the moon, and the 
girl did not protest when Andy’s arm stole round her 
waist. 


I 


CHAPTER XV 


VAGRANCY CANON 

said Andy passionately, “do 
I love you more than anything 



world? I can’t live without 


you, darling! Don’t want to live without you! You 
know I love you, don’t you, dear? Tell me you know 
it! You must know it! You can’t help but know! 
I’ve loved you from the moment I first set eyes on 
you, when you stood in the door in your evening gown 
at El Trono de Tolerancia. God, how I love you, 
Charmian!” 

He stopped her, made her face him, and threw his 
other arm about her. He was trembling violently, 
and in the moonlight she saw the twitching of his 
parted lips. 

“Charmian! Charmian!” he cried brokenly, as he 
realized that she was not struggling in his arms. 
“You love me, don’t you? I know you love me! 


God!” 


He tightened his hold on her, drew her close to his 
breast, kissed her dark hair, then savagely threw her 


body sidewise and found her lips with his. 

She was shaken—swept away. He was so young, 
so handsome, so strong, so intensely masculine. Every 


primitive instinct of her being went out to him. She 


could no more escape the passionate appeal of the 


VAGRANCY CANON 137 

male in him than can the innocent, nature-ruled fe¬ 
males of the wilderness escape at mating time. She 
had no desire to escape. They were man and woman, 
alone under the stars and the moon, in a deep, grim 
canon that scarred the heart of this wild region; and 
all the sounding brass and tinkling cymbals of our 
false and hectic civilization were far away. A man 
and a woman, alone and aloof as Adam and Eve in 
the Garden of Eden, young, courageous, ripe for love. 
“Male and female created he them.” She gave him 
her warm, firm lips. He kissed her lips and eyes and 
her dusky throat, while the blood hammered in his 
veins as if freshets of old port wine were rushing 
through them. 

They spoke a thousand words that night, reclining 
in each other’s arms on the uncompromising floor of 
that severe old gorge, but they only said, “I love 
you.” They said it in a hundred ways, lips to lips, 
but no way was original. Love knows no originality 
when it is sincere. “I love you” is all that can be said 
—three words, “I love you,” but they are the hinges 
that swing the door of life. 

“And to-morrow you’re going with him to the Val¬ 
ley of Arcana, Charmian! Will you think of me all 
the time, dearest? You won’t listen if he makes love 
to you, will you, Charmian? I know you won’t— 
you’re the dearest, truest, sweetest girl on earth! 
Oh, why did I have to draw the long match! Why 
couldn’t I go with you instead of him? But as soon 
as you find the valley, you’ll come right back, won’t 
you, honey?” 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


138 

“Of course”—and she smothered the words against 
his lips. 

“I wonder, if I were to tell him that we love each 
other, if he wouldn’t consent to let me go instead. If 
Mary needs help, he, being a doctor, ought to stay 
with her. But then I couldn’t ask it. He wouldn’t 
expect me to. I know he’d give in to me—but he’d 
think I wasn’t a sport. We’ve always played square 
—the doctor and I. I hope he doesn’t love you too 
much, Charmian. Has he told you that he loves you? 
What were you saying in the canon this afternoon?” 

“He told me he loved me,” said Charmian softly. 

“He did!”—belligerently. “And what—what did 
you say?” 

“I—I promised to consider it, Andy. I couldn’t 
think of anything else to say. And that was before 
you—before to-night, you know.” 

“Why didn’t you tell him there was nothing doing?” 

“I couldn’t. I didn’t want to— That is, I—I— 
he took me so by surprise. And you hadn’t once 
mentioned love to me then, Andy. And who could 
hurt his feelings—he’s such a dear—such a manly 
man!” 

“But you knew I was going to blurt it out some¬ 
time—when I found my nerve.” 

“I know—I felt it, I guess. But—oh, don’t think 
of Doctor Shonto to-night. I love you—I love you! 
I don’t want to think of anything else in all the world!” 

The hour was late when they returned to camp, 
floating in air. The doctor had long since sought his 
blankets. They lengthened the good-night kiss of 


VAGRANCY CANON 


i39 

1 

their new-found love, for in the morning there would 
be no opportunity to kiss before the parting. 

Charmian, Andy, and Shonto had talked at length 
over the directions given to Andy by the defaulting 
Henry for the continuation of the journey. Before 
the girl and Andy had gone down the gorge for their 
love-making all arrangements had been made for an 
early-morning start. 

The four were rather silent as they ate breakfast 
in the frosty canon. Mary Temple assumed the initia¬ 
tive in such conversation as was indulged in, fussing 
over the out-going pair, as needlessly agitated as a 
mother hen, a couple of whose brood are ducklings 
and persist in taking to the water. But at last the 
meal was over, the good-byes were spoken, the packs 
and water-bags shouldered, the final love message 
wirelessed between Charmian and Andy. And now 
Mary stood needlessly shading her eyes with her hand 
as she watched the couple up the gorge, so dismal at 
that early-morning hour, while Andy watched from a 
seat on a large boulder, spread-legged, with hands 
clasped between his knees, hopelessness in his eyes. 

Then shrilly shouted the mother hen after her 
erring ducklings: 

“Doctor! Doc- tor! Did you leave Andy plenty 
of his little pills?” 

Poor Mary Temple! She was not gifted with the 
ability to look into the future for which she gave 
Madame Destrehan credit. Had she been able to she 
could have envisioned Dr. Shonto trudging wearily 
back to her and Andy six days later—alone. 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


140 

Half a mile up the clammy canon from the camp 
Charmian and the doctor turned abruptly to the right 
and entered a steep branch canon that tentacled from 
the larger one to the south. Their course was still 
due south, according to the bewhiskered deserter, and, 
as they carried a dependable compass, it was without 
misgivings that they abandoned landmarks which they 
knew and clambered upward into an unknown country. 

The branch canon was rock-tenoned and perilously 
steep, though mercifully dry for a mile above its 
mouth. It was, said Charmian, the most outspoken 
canon in its querulous complaints over their trespass¬ 
ing that they had as yet encountered. It seemed that 
nature had designed it as the closest attempt to an 
impossible approach to what was beyond as lay 
within her power. Into its V bottom she had in a 
lit of anger hurled immense boulders from the heights 
above. She had uptilted in her tantrum huge strata 
of leaflike stone whose edges were sharp as a butcher’s 
cleaver. Then, out to make a night of it, she had 
poured rubble from the size of an egg to that of a 
muskmelon down the reaching slopes, wildly mirthful 
as a miser raining his shekels from bags to glittering 
heaps on the table-top. These rubble slides were 
sometimes half a mile in length—nothing but a slanted 
sea of round, smooth stones of reddish hue, with not 
a grain of soil or one single gasping blade of vegeta¬ 
tion. Across these slides the wanderers laboured 
heavily, for the stones, always eager to continue their 
interrupted rush into the canon, gave under their feet 
like dough; often slid under them, carrying them 


VAGRANCY CANON 141 

along on the crest of a new slide; and, thus releasing 
the pressure, caused slides above them which threat¬ 
ened to swoop down and engulf them or mangle their 
arms and legs; threw them headlong on occasion; 
twisted their ankles; endangered every bone; made 
progress a nightmare of apprehensions by clutching 
their feet at every step, as when the dream-tortured 
victim tries to flee from some murderous phantom and 
terror palsies his legs. Once Shonto pitched headlong 
as the rubble sank under his feet like breaking ice. 
The break started a slide above him, which extended 
upward and upward to the lip of the canon until their 
ears were filled with the deafening roar of a far- 
reaching avalanche. Large stones were pushed up¬ 
ward above the mass, and, released, came bounding 
down alone over the top of the sliding sea, gaining 
momentum at every leap, living devils of menace. 

For a brief space the two were bewildered, the 
doctor the more so because his head had struck a 
rock in falling and left him dazed. Then Charmian 
screamed, and he struggled up and ploughed a way to 
her side. Almost before they could plan escape the 
vanguard of the great slide was rushing past them 
and piling up about their ankles. 

“The other side!” shouted the doctor. 

He grasped her hand and together they plunged 
recklessly toward the V bottom of the canon. It was 
no longer dry, and this feature had forced them to 
traverse the rubble, for the opposite wall was all but 
perpendicular, with overhanging crags. There was 
no footing. Every frantic step landed them on top 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


142 

of a rolling stone or in the midst of a nest of them. 
Their ankles turned; they were pitched drunkenly 
from right to left, thrown to their knees, carried 
downward in a sitting posture, sometimes backward. 
The increasing roar was terrifying; a tidal wave of 
reddish stones was vomited at them—a charging army 
pursuing them, its skirmish line already heckling them, 
its cannon balls pounding down from the artillery in 
the rear. 

Charmian pitched forward; would have sprawled 
on her face upon the wriggling mass of stones had 
the doctor lost his crushing grip on her hand. Her 
right arm was almost jerked from its socket as their 
arms straightened between them and the doctor held 
on. She thought of her girlhood game of “crack the 
whip,” when she had been the “snapper” at the tail 
end of the line and had absorbed the greatest part of 
the dizzying shock. Next moment she felt herself 
swept up into his arms, pack and all; and then—though 
only Heaven knows how he did it—the man pitched 
with his burden into the canon, lunged through the 
water, and started to climb the wall on the opposite 
side. 

Here she struggled free. “I’m all right,” she 
panted. “I can climb. Oh, hurry!” 

Upwards they struggled, grasping jutting stones and 
the roots of bushes. Into the canon below them poured 
the avalanche of stones with the clatter of a billion 
dice. They struggled on for fifty feet or more, then 
the girl dropped in helpless exhaustion; and Shonto, 
faring little better, threw himself down beside her. 


VAGRANCY CANON 143 

“We’re safe,” he gulped. “Just—just rest.” 

Gradually the roar subsided while they lay there 
gasping for the air that seemed to be denied them. 
Only an occasional angry snarl came from some sec¬ 
tion of the slide that tried to renew the wild dervish 
dance of destruction. Then all sounds ceased, and the 
beleaguered travellers sat up and gazed at the opposite 
side of the canon. Everything looked as it had looked 
before the doctor fell, except that the bottom of the 
canon was covered with rubble to a depth of maybe 
twenty feet. The freshets of a hundred springs to 
come would carry these on down towards the floor of 
the mother canon below, and all would seem to be 
as it had been for centuries past until some leaping 
deer or prowling cougar or skulking coyote passed that 
way and started another slide. 

“Gosh!” breathed Charmian. “Ain’t nature won¬ 
derful! Thanks for the lift, dear old thing. Well, 
who’s scared? Where do we go from here?” 

“That’s the difficulty,” said Shonto seriously. “I 
don’t like to risk another slide by travelling over the 
rubble stones again, and if we keep to this side of the 
canon we won’t make half a mile an hour. And to 
walk up the floor of the canon means wet feet and a 
continual battle with big boulders and outcroppings.” 

But time was of the essence of their contract. They 
risked the slides again. 

They crossed two more as large as the one on which 
catastrophe had threatened, then several of lesser di¬ 
mensions until they went out of the district of slides. 
Now they worked their slow way along the same steep 


144 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

slope, over roots and rocks and soft black soil, mellow 
with decayed chaparral leaves and foamy from the 
heaving frost. The travelling was heart-breaking until 
they stepped into a deer trail by sheerest accident. 
Birds cheered them along their way—silent, solemn 
birds, but companionable in their flattering curiosity. 
They were very small birds with indistinguishable necks, 
impossible long bills, big heads, swollen breasts, dull 
colouring, and manners pontifical in seriousness. These 
were the questioning little aborigines that, on the other 
side of the divide, Mary Temple had called squirks, 
explaining that a squirk was an important little man 
who looked like a shabbily clothed preacher, but who 
made his living by taking orders for enlargements of 
portrait photographs. 

The canon dwindled—petered out entirely on the 
ample breast of a hill. It that had been so jagged and 
yawning and formidable down below now showed no 
cause for its being—Vagrancy Canon, Charmian named 
it because, she said, it could show no visible means of 
support. Over the rounded breast of the eminence 
they trailed and found themselves on virtually level 
land, on the wooded plateau of Shirttail Henry’s 
promise. The day was almost spent; they retraced 
their way back to the canon, to where they had seen a 
spring. Fleecy clouds drifted across the sky, mobiliz¬ 
ing in the west, where the reflection of the sinking sun 
on the far-off ocean was re-reflected on their snowy 
scallops—orange, cerise, and giddy yellow. 

They camped by the little spring. 


\ 


CHAPTER XVI 

THE CAMP IN VAGRANCY CANON 

S HONTO collected wood and built a fire, while 
Charmian undid the packs. At an early hour the 
sun sank behind the mountain peaks, and night 
descended fast. They cooked and ate a simple meal 
and wasted not a crumb, for this was a serious business 
that they were upon and the success of it might depend 
on their husbanding of food. 

They cleaned up after the meal, and, while the thin 
light lasted, sought out their sleeping places for the 
night and spread the blankets. Both were ineffably 
weary, for even Charmian’s pack was a heavy one. 
But the warmth of the leaping fire that they now built 
up from the red cooking coals soothed their aching 
joints and muscles and made existence rosier. They 
sat one on either side of it, and Shonto rolled and 
lighted a cigarette to be drawn upon between sips of 
hot black coffee. 

“I’ll take one too, please,” said Charmian. “I don’t 
often smoke, but I know how; and it seems to me that, 
with only us two away out here in the land of no¬ 
where, I ought to smoke to keep you company. Do 
you approve of women smoking, Doctor?” 

“Never before having had any women to be solici¬ 
tous about,” replied Shonto thoughtfully, as he rolled 

145 


146 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

her cigarette, “I have never given the subject much 
thought.” 

He arose and handed her the rolled cylinder. She 
accepted it a bit awkwardly and ran the tip of her pink 
tongue along the edge of the paper to moisten it. With 
the toe of his heavy high-laced boot he scraped a 
burning twig from the fire and supplied her with a 
light. 

“Women who smoke not being looked upon with 
favour,” he remarked, as he squatted over his coffee 
cup again, “strikes me as only another example of the 
slavery to which woman has been subjected from the 
beginning of history. Laying aside any harm that may 
come from the practice, why shouldn’t she smoke? It 
may stain her teeth and work havoc with her digestive 
apparatus, but her teeth and digestive apparatus are 
identical with man’s. So we can’t justly prohibit her 
from smoking on those grounds. The smoking woman 
is looked upon with disfavour, then, merely because 
tradition has it that she cannot smoke and remain in the 
good graces of conservative society. To the bourgeois 
mind, she is not a lady. Now, the act of smoking is in 
itself absolutely no more unmoral than spinning a top. 
If men derived pleasure from top-spinning, doubtless 
women would be permitted to likewise enjoy them¬ 
selves. Men eat candy, and women may do so too 
without losing caste. Just why they can’t smoke with¬ 
out getting in bad is beyond me.” 

“It’s simply another of our stupid taboos,” said 
Charmian, puffing grandly to show her independence, 
and choking just a little now and then. “We’re 


THE CAMP IN VAGRANCY CANON 147 

hemmed in with taboos on all sides. They are 
grounded in our conservative minds from childhood, 
and we can’t shake them off. Years ago some one 
decided that women ought not to smoke. Some one 
agreed with him. Others took it up, perhaps; and 
finally it became the accepted rule. So in childhood we 
were taught that women shouldn’t smoke—that good 
women didn’t smoke. We grew up unaccustomed to 
see women smoking. Therefore when we encountered 
an occasional individual who did smoke, she was con¬ 
sidered immoral. But why immoral? What is there 
immoral about placing a cigarette between one’s lips, 
lighting it, and inhaling and exhaling the smoke? In¬ 
jurious it may be, but we’re not discussing that phase 
of the subject. A man may thus injure himself with 
impunity, but if a woman does so she is immoral. Now 
isn’t that illogical?” 

“Logic plays a small part in our lives,” said 
Shonto. “We’re not on very friendly terms with logic. 
Logic means thinking and shaking off the old ideas that 
are handed down to us from the ancients, and we’re 
too lazy to do that. Logic calls for reasoning, and 
why reason when our beliefs and our behaviour have 
been regulated for us for seventeen or eighteen hun¬ 
dred years? Why think for ourselves, when the an¬ 
cients went to so much trouble to prescribe for us our 
taboos and our religious beliefs and our standard of 
morals? Why think, in short? It’s such hard work. 
And it has a tendency to uproot old beliefs in which 
we are quite comfortable. We might feel the urge to 
clean house if we sat down and thought a little, and 


148 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

everybody knows how upsetting is house-cleaning 
day!” 

“And isn’t there any hope for us, Doctor Shonto? 
Will nothing make us think?” 

Shonto’s dull eyes brightened. “Yes, we’re begin¬ 
ning to think. The great war did that much for us 
here in America, anyway. I really believe there is a 
serious attempt being made to-day to think. People 
are at least trying to think. They are at least reading 
more thoughtful books than ever before, and, thank 
God, we have a few men who are capable of writing 
thoughtful books! There’s a whisper going along the 
line, a faint and timorous suggestion that maybe all is 
not as it should be on this earth—that maybe we are 
selling our heritage for a mess of pottage—that per¬ 
haps we are trampling life’s riches under our feet, like 
swine trampling into the mud nuggets of gold as they 
rush to the swill trough. 

“But as yet only the people who have been trying for 
some time to think are absorbing the books which will 
help them to think. These books are beyond the 
masses. The authors of many of them are slaves to 
style and big-sounding words. The newspapers are 
the unthinking man’s school—and what a farce, what 
a seedbed of corruption they are! Reporters and 
editors must remain loyal to the policies of their papers, 
regardless of their own opinions. They who could 
help us to think are forbidden to do so on the penalty 
of losing their jobs. 

“And the children of this country, and doubtless 
every other so-called civilized country, must depend 


THE CAMP IN VAGRANCY CANON 149 

upon the schools to learn to think. And every thinking 
teacher who takes the rostrum is fired for his attempt 
to break down the walls of superstition and slash the 
hedges of tradition. But for all that, the youth of this 
country at least are gradually—no, pretty swiftly— 
breaking away. The world-old conflict between Age 
and Youth is at its hottest now. In the past thirty 
years the world has made revolutionary discoveries 
which are daily changing our lives and methods of 
thinking. All this came about after Age had settled 
down to an acceptance of life without any changes. At 
forty or fifty one does not readily change his views. 
The sutures of his skull are closed, and it is difficult for 
him to learn new ideas. He is beyond the plastic 
period, and his head is as hard as his arteries. He is 
entirely unable to accept the electron theory in the 
place of ‘in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, 
the sea, and all that in them is.’ Simply because he 
never heard of the electron theory at the age when his 
brain was capable of accepting a new idea. It’s too 
late for him—he’s hopeless. But he’s dying off! 
To-morrow he won’t be running the world. His sons 
and his daughters will be in the saddle. 

“And they have come upon the earth and grown to 
young manhood and young womanhood while these 
radical changes were taking place. They are able to 
consider, even accept, the findings of modern science 
because they are presented to them while their brains 
are still in the receptive period of life. What seems 
most plausible to them they accept, and they naturally 
will laugh at the old traditions, superstitions, taboos, 


I 5 0 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

and beliefs that have come down to us from the days 
of savagery, and which were ingrained in the lives of 
their parents when they were of a receptive age. Fifty 
years, I think, will show many a mossy institution 
crumbled to ashes. The Aged of to-day will be gone, 
without having been able to force their life-long beliefs 
on Youth. Then Youth will become Old Age, and if 
we have progressed at all, the coming generation will 
refuse to accept what their fathers and mothers be¬ 
lieved in and made the ruling factor in their lives. So 
the conflict between Age and Youth, between conserva¬ 
tism and change, between receptive minds and locked 
minds, goes on to the end of time.” 

“My stars!” cried Charmian. “You’re more pessi¬ 
mistic about it—more hopeless—than I am, even!” 

“I hadn’t finished,” said Shonto dreamily. “That 
will be the result unless men learn to think. They 
have brains, why don’t they think? Because they have 
been relieved of the necessity for thinking by the 
ancient spellbinders whom we still worship to-day. 
That’s why they don’t think. Man is naturally lazy— 
more so mentally than any other way. If others have 
done his thinking for him, he should worry! It gives 
him time to pursue the things that he likes—money, 
pleasure, love, self-aggrandizement.” 

“Well, I understand all that. But it doesn’t help.” 

“We’re going to make him think in spite of himself,” 
said Shonto. “We’re going to give him a quicker 
brain, so that he will be compelled to think willy-nilly. 
H is brain is good, but it needs exercise. And he has 
not been obliged to exercise it. Hence it has become 


THE CAMP IN VAGRANCY CANON 151 

slothful. Considering the progress that our few 
thinkers have made, the brain of the average man is 
far below normal. We must bring it up to normal so 
that it will exercise itself and grow whether he wants it 
to or not. Then he’ll shed his stupidity and open his 
eyes, and maybe something will go bust in the wheels 
of the system that rules us. We’re going to feed him 
the extract of the thyroid glands of sheep, sharpen his 
intellect, put the zip of life into him. Then he’ll think, 
and he’ll probably get mad. But we are only at the 
beginning of this great study of the glands and their 
secretions, and what they may do for man. 

“The thyroid is the gland of energy. It controls the 
growth of certain organs and tissues of brain and sex. 
The internal secretions of our thyroid glands, mind 
you, are not necessary to life. If these secretions are 
inadequate, we may go on living, but we shall be below 
normal mentally, and our level of energy will remain 
low. But when more thyroid is introduced into the 
system our vital chemical reactions will speed up. It 
has been proved and accepted without qualification by 
men of science that the more thyroid a person has the 
more energetic will he be. Our dull people are, in 
many cases, only victims of an insufficiency of thyroid. 
One’s memory is affected by his thyroid glands. And 
without memory, who can learn? Judgment depends 
on memory, doesn’t it? It requires memory, the asso¬ 
ciation of experiences. Quick thinking calls for thyroid 
glands that are normal. Do you know, Charmian, that 
many criminals are only the victims of their glands— 
and that science can probably correct this in time by 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


152 

supplying the unfortunates with the gland secretions 
which they lack? Do you realize that it is, even now, 
an established scientific fact that idiocy can be cured by 
feeding the subject the extract of the thyroid glands of 
sheep ? And—and— Well, I simply have great hopes 
for the race if science eventually finds it possible to 
quicken the thinking apparatus by the introduction of 
gland extracts.” 

“Has anything been accomplished along that line?” 
she asked. “Have you accomplished anything?” 

“I have,” he told her. “I am convinced that we are 
on the right track.” 

“Tell me of some case,” she begged. 

He seemed to be searching his mind. “The greater 
part of the cases that I have handled,” he said at last, 
“were concerned with subjects whose maladies I cannot 
discuss with you because of their delicate nature. In 
brief, subjects who were troubled with the problems of 
sex. And such cases as I have had that called for the 
introduction of thyroxin are still in the experimental 
stage. Only time will tell whether we are right or 
not.” 

“But can’t you notice results?” 

“Oh, yes—in many cases. But whether or not the 
results will be permanent no one can say at present.” 

“For a little,” she said thoughtfully, “I imagined 
you were about to tell me something, but you’re still 
reticent and I shan’t press you. Well, here we are, all 
alone together, on the outskirts of nowhere, and be¬ 
tween us we have solved many riddles of the race. And 
I have been immoral and smoked a cigarette, if I 


THE CAMP IN VAGRANCY CANON 153 

wasn’t immoral in the first place in coming here with 
you. But it seem'ed that in no other way could I 
find the Valley of Arcana—and here I am. I wonder 
if we’re to begin crawling to victory to-morrow?” 

“I don’t like those clouds that we saw at sunset,” he 
remarked. “But they’re all gone now. The sky’s as 
clear as ever.” 

Charmian gaped, placed a slim hand over her dis¬ 
torted mouth, and patted the aperture, ending with a 
burst of air that was wrenched out of her until her jaw 
muscles seemed to creak. 

“Pardon me,” she laughed. “I couldn’t help it— 
I’m about all in. That means the blankets for mine. 
Good night, Doctor. 

“How you have interested me,” she sighed, as she 
rose to her feet and stretched her arms and torso as 
unreservedly as a young panther would. “You have 
worked so much—have accomplished so much. You 
make me feel like a baseball fan in the grandstand, 
yelling his head off over the good work of some famous 
player in the field. I hate fans. They’re so willing to 
get entertainment from the achievements of others. 
They dote on baseball, know all the players by name 
and their records from A to Z. They never miss a 
game, never fail to bloat their blood vessels by shouting 
their approval. Yet not one of them can toss a rubber 
ball twenty feet in air and be sure of catching it! 

“I’m not picking on baseball fans in particular. I 
just used them as a handy example. All of us in this 
world but the thinkers are fans. We’re wild about the 
conveniences that electricity has brought to us, but not 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


154 

one out of a hundred of us could splice a broken electric 
wire. We rave over a famous lecturer or writer, but 
how many of us try to become lecturers or writers? 
Can you imagine a man—I know him—who never 
misses a professional billiard game, knows all the pro¬ 
fessional players, all the niceties of their work, but 
never takes a billiard cue in hand? 

“Most of us are fans—we admire and worship and 
gloat over the success of the few, particularly if it is 
designed for our entertainment, but never make an 
effort at being anything ourselves. Oh, I’m sick of 
shouting from the grandstand, Doctor! I want to do 
something. I want to be one of the few who make the 
world go round for the others!’’ 

“Leave the grandstand, then,” said the doctor 
softly, “and come down on the diamond with me.” 

Charmian caught her breath at the suddenness of 
it. She had not suspected that she was leading herself 
into a trap. And she had given herself to Andy! She 
had let him fondle her, had told him that she loved 
him, with her lips pressed to his. 

“I—I haven’t finished thinking about it,” she said 
hurriedly, and hastened off to her blankets. 

For an hour she lay looking up at the black sky and 
the tracery of pine branches against it, thinking, think¬ 
ing, groping patiently but fruitlessly. 

Next morning at an early hour they climbed the hill 
again, crossed the wooded plateau, came upon the thin¬ 
ning trees and the encroaching brush. That afternoon 
they left all traces of the forest behind them, and faced 
a desolate sweep of chaparral, stretching away as far 


THE CAMP IN VAGRANCY CANON 155 

as the eye could see, hemmed in on the south by snowy 
peaks barely outlined against the paleness of the sky. 
And somewhere in the midst of that seemingly un¬ 
broken sea of hoary grey and antique gold the undis¬ 
covered Valley of Arcana lay in hiding. 


CHAPTER XVII 


BEAR PASS 

Y EARS beyond conjecture had passed since a great 
forest fire had swept across the waste of chapar¬ 
ral which Charmian and Doctor Shonto looked 
upon. Probably never before or since in the history of 
the California forests had such a far-reaching fire 
ravaged the peaks and valleys. 

A mighty forest had stood there then, to be laid low 
by the consuming flames. In its place had come the 
comparatively rapid growing chaparral, claiming the 
land to the exclusion of all other vegetation. Here and 
there a lone pine stood erect and disdainful above the 
twelve-foot brush, and here and there on the ground 
under the bushes lay down trees, ancient corpses that 
had disintegrated to corklike particles and powder, 
mere shadows of logs that were ready to crumble when 
a boot toe touched them. 

The chaparral was compromised of buckthorn 
bushes, interspered with manzanita. The buckthorn 
bushes formed what is known as locked chaparral— 
which means that their prickly upper branches are 
twined and intertwined until they form a solid mat, 
more impenetrable than a hedge. So compact was this 
mat that little sun trickled through to the earth, and 

as a consequence of this not a blade of grass could live 

156 


BEAR PASS 


i57 

under the dense canopy. But even where a single 
chaparral bush grows in the open no grass will be found 
within a radius of ten feet on all sides of it. It claims 
the land, selfishly sucks all the nutriment from the soil, 
and will share existence with no other plant. 

The ground under the canopy was covered with the 
tiny leaves that had shattered off through countless 
years. This carpet was several inches thick, with dry, 
newly shattered leaves on top, and, below these, leaves 
in various stages of disintegration, down to the bottom 
layer of powdered leaf-mould. To stand erect and try 
to push one’s way into this thicket would be as use¬ 
less as attempting to forge through a barbed-wire en¬ 
tanglement. But underneath the branches the ground 
was clean, and no limbs grew from the sturdy trunks 
of the bushes lower than a foot from the earth. And 
as the limbs had a decided upward trend, like the limbs 
of a cypress tree, there was ample opportunity for one 
to crawl on hands and knees for any distance that he 
might choose. Of course now and then close-growing 
bushes would balk him, but there always would be a way 
around. To travel through the thicket depended en¬ 
tirely on one’s powers of endurance in reverting to the 
mode of going calling employed by his simian pre¬ 
cursors. To hack a trail through was a task for an 
army of axemen. 

The pilgrims seated themselves on the ground and 
looked expectantly at each other. 

“What do you think of it, Doctor?” asked Charmian. 

“I think,” replied Shonto, “that we’d better go back.” 

“Honestly?” 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


158 

“Honestly.” 

For a long time Charmian was thoughtful, a little 
pucker between her eyebrows. Then she resolutely 
shook her head, and her upper lip turned up a trifle 
in her characteristic smile. 

“No, we’ve set our hands to the plough,” she said. 
“ ‘Go back’ is not in my lexicon.” 

“I think,” Shonto returned, “that a half-hour or so 
of crawling on all fours under that tangle of branches 
will convince the two of us that we’ve never known 
fatigue before.” 

“Which doesn’t mean that you’re not game, of 
course.” 

“I am thinking more of you than of myself,” he 
told her. 

“Don’t do that,” she requested. “I think I’ve shown 
that I’m pretty tough. And I’m of the opinion, Doctor, 
that I shall crawl better than you will. I have less 
weight to push along, and I’m somewhat of a tumbler, 
though I guess I’ve never told you. I can turn hand¬ 
springs, do the cartwheel, and throw flip-flops for¬ 
ward and backward. My life has not been entirely 
wasted, you see. Besides all that, women are more 
primitive than men, both mentally and physically. I 
imagine that, ’way back in the misty ages when we 
were learning to pick up a club to defend ourselves 
instead of biting altogether, man was walking erect a 
long time before the female of the species stood up 
and tried the new fad. Don’t you know that a woman 
can sit down on the floor with more comfort than a 
man? You birds are over-civilized, and that’s what’s 


BEAR PASS 159 

the matter with the world. Are you ready? Let’s 
go!” 

In an hour Dr. Inman Shonto was ready to admit 
that her logic was sound. “You go back farther than 
primitive man,” he puffed, as he lumbered along after 
her. “You go back to when we were saurians wallow¬ 
ing in the slime and the seaweed. You’re a lizard.” 

In the beginning he had taken the lead, but his slow, 
clumsy progress had nettled her. 

“Give me the compass,” she had demanded. “I’ll 
go ahead and show you how. It’s a pity you’re so big. 
‘The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the 
strong’—Ecclesiastes something or other. They’re to 
the springy-boned and wiggly. Watch auntie, In¬ 
man !” 

Watching auntie was difficult, for auntie glided along 
so bonelessly and snakily that half the time she was out 
of sight and had to wait for him to catch up. When 
an occasional low-growing limb fought her demand for 
the right of way, she went flat and swam under it, 
while the man was obliged to surrender and find a way 
around it. 

Often the packs on their shoulders caught like Absa¬ 
lom’s hair, and then there was difficulty for both. One 
usually had to extricate the other. “You’re like a pig 
caught under a fence,” the widow told her companion. 
“Why don’t you squeal when I pull your leg? And, 
my stars, you’re heavy, man!” 

Despite the carpet of leaves under them, their knees 
became chafed. They cut pieces of leather from the 
uppers of their high-laced boots, made two holes on 


160 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

either side of them, and tied them over their knees 
with heavy twine. Every muscle in their bodies ached. 
They were obliged to rest frequently, especially the 
doctor, to lie flat on the earth and straighten their 
limbs. At rare intervals they came upon breaks in the 
thicket, where for maybe several hundred feet they 
could walk erect. In one of these breaks, where two 
Digger pines grew, they made camp for their first night 
in the chaparral. 

They were in the thicket another day and night and 
until noon of the next day. They had come upon deep 
canons, where the chaparral broke and scrub oak grew. 
Here they found moisture, enough to replenish the 
water bags, the contents of which they had been nurs¬ 
ing carefully. But always the chaparral reached out 
to meet them when they had crossed one of these earth 
scars, and before long they were crawling again. 

Toward noon of the third day they found them¬ 
selves crawling over level land, where the ragged 
growth was sparse. Both were nearly spent, when of a 
sudden the land began descending rapidly. And almost 
before they were aware of it they were gazing down 
spellbound into an abyss which could be nothing else 
than the long-sought Valley of Arcana. 

It was freakish. Neither had ever seen its like be¬ 
fore. Thinking themselves in the midst of a waste of 
chaparral and far from their goal, the land suddenly 
had dropped to a shelf a thousand feet below them. 
Charmian said that, if she had had her eyes shut, she 
probably would have crawled right over the precipice 
and pitched to her death on the rocks below. 


BEAR PASS 161 

It was a mmiature Grand Canon of the Colorado, 
with surrounding walls as steep and perilous. The 
break was as abrupt and stupefying as the far-famed 
Pali of the Island of Oahu. 

Far below them flashed a river, jade-green, a wind¬ 
ing snake. Trees followed its course, and beyond were 
delectable meadows, half green, half brown in tinge. 
The spreading trees—probably live oaks—looked 
miniature, like buckthorn bushes; the lofty pines like 
toothpicks. Over crags below them eagles soared. 
Not a sound came; a vast, solemn hush hung over the 
smiling valley. In the far distance, perhaps seven or 
eight miles away, the saw-tooth tops of the craggy 
peaks that guarded the southern limit of the Valley of 
Arcana were dimly traced against the skim-milk blue 
of the sky. Below the peaks lay an enchanted lake, 
blue and sparkling, swimming miragelike in the sun¬ 
light. 

For minutes neither of the trespassers spoke. 
Shonto stepped close to Charmian and took her hand, 
and side by side they gazed upon the wonders spread 
before them. They were awed by the grandeur and 
solemnity of this masterpiece of Nature, a little lonely, 
a little timid. 

They had accomplished much. Probably never be¬ 
fore in the annals of exploration had any one been 
forced to blaze a trail into an unknown country crawl¬ 
ing on all fours. They were painfully weary and sore 
from the unaccustomed strain; their provisions were 
low, and but several mouthfuls of water remained in 
the canvas bags. But they had found the Valley of 


i6z 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


Arcana, and its myriad delights rewarded them for the 
torture they had undergone. 

It was Charmian Reemy who broke the silence. “I 
think,” she said, “that Ranger Reed was nearer to the 
Valley of Arcana than he knew when he turned back, 
discouraged. In an hour, Doctor, we might have 
turned back, too, with our grub and water so low.” 

They seated themselves on stones to discuss the 
situation. 

It would be absolutely necessary for them to find a 
route down into the valley to replenish the water bags. 
Also, they must have more food. They had lived 
principally on jerked venison for that day and the day 
before, conserving the other supplies, and had nibbled 
the strong nutritious chocolate from the army emer¬ 
gency rations which they carried. They had not dared 
to make coffee because they could not spare the water. 
The only firearm that they had brought along was the 
doctor’s .22 rifle, because of its lightness. Shonto was 
a crack shot with the little weapon, and Charmian was 
obliged to shelve her repugnance for the slaughter of 
the innocents and give him permission to kill jackrab- 
bits or any other small game that they might see. 

These things decided, they nibbled a cake of choco¬ 
late each and divided the remaining “jerky” between 
them. They drank the last of the water. Then they 
set off along the lip of the precipice in search of a pos¬ 
sible way to get down into the valley. After a mile or 
more of winding in and out among the outcroppings, 
boulders, and tentacles of chaparral that extended 
from the main thicket to the edge of the declivity they 


BEAR PASS 


163 

were seriously wondering whether it was possible to 
reach the floor of the valley at all. For the wall below 
them was, figuratively speaking, as perpendicular as 
the side of a skyscraper. They discovered several false 
breaks that promised to open upon routes leading 
downward, but each time they were halted by a yawn¬ 
ing precipice as steep as any yet encountered. 

A few oak trees grew close to the lip of the gorge, 
some of them on the very edge and slanting over the 
abyss as if straining to gaze down upon the mysteries 
below. Under one of these, as they walked around a 
point of chaparral, they came face to face with a big 
brown bear. He was an industrious bear and had not 
seen them nor smelled them, as the slight breeze that 
was astir was blowing in their faces. His majesty was 
sitting on his haunches, profile toward the surprised 
adventurers, with both paws to his mouth and with 
huge jaws working. As they came to a stop he lowered 
his body to all fours as lightly as a squirrel, for all his 
several hundred pounds of weight, picked up an acorn 
with one paw, and broke the shell of it with the butt 
of the other paw. He carried the kernel to his mouth 
and chonked with satisfaction. He sat erect again, 
saw the intruders, lowered both paws droopingly in 
abject surprise, and, with a startled JVuff, wheeled and 
went lumbering ofi at astonishing speed. 

At the end of about fifteen shuffling leaps he swung 
abruptly toward the precipice and disappeared be¬ 
tween an overhanging oak and an upstanding rock. 

But for him, then, Charmian and Dr. Shonto would 
have walked directly past what seemed to be an animal- 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


164 

made trail that zigzagged down into the Valley of 
Arcana, the gateway of which was the monumentlike 
stone and the twisted black oak. They halted in the 
pass and heard the rattling of stones below and the 
scraping footsteps of the fleeing bear. A trail, narrow 
but plainly outlined, descended along the side of a por¬ 
tion of the precipice less steep than heretofore. The 
brush that grew over it here and there had been 
scraped of its bark in many places, and the smooth 
wood showing through had been polished by contact 
with the hair of various animals that had ascended and 
descended the trail for unreckoned years. The stones 
protruding from the earth were claw-scratched and 
eroded. 

“I christen thee Bear Pass,” saluted Charmian. 
“Can we go where that bear can, Doctor?” 

“He may be bound for a den in the side of the preci¬ 
pice,” suggested Shonto. “The trail may lead only to 
that. But it’s worth a trial, provided—” 

“Well?” 

“It’s narrow,” finished the physician. “I wouldn’t 
care to meet that bear down there, and find it neces¬ 
sary to argue the right of way with him with this 
.22.” 

“We won’t argue,” said Charmian. “It isn’t polite. 
We’ll excuse ourselves and go back. It’s his trail, 
anyway. Let’s try it. But I wish I hadn’t crowed so 
loudly when I outcrawled you in the chaparral. I feel 
sick and dizzy every time I look over the edge. And 
on a narrow trail, with that chasm grinning up at me— 
whew! Don’t you remember the iron rail at the edge 


BEAR PASS 


165 

of the great boulder overlooking the forest at El Trono 
de Tolerancia? I had to have it there. I never dared 
to stand and look without the feel of that iron pipe in 
my hands.” 

“Don’t let that worry you,” he cheered her. “Try 
to make it. Don’t think of the chasm. Don’t look at 
it. Keep your eyes on the trail. But if you get dizzy 
and nauseated let me know. I’ll fix you up. Don’t 
want to do it, though, unless it becomes necessary. 
But, being a doctor, I realize what a terrible sensation 
it is for one who suffers that way. It’s dangerous, too. 
I never feel it myself. I would have made a wonderful 
mechanic at erecting the framework of skyscrapers.” 

He smiled at her encouragingly. “I’ll go ahead,” he 
said. “Keep close to me and think of something 
pleasant.” 

With a brave but wan little smile she fell in behind 
him, and he started along the descending shelf that 
followed the wall of the cavern. 

It was dangerously narrow, a ticklish piece of busi¬ 
ness to follow it. Above them rose a craggy wall, 
growing in height as they progressed slowly down¬ 
ward. Occasionally the trail grew wider, but this usu¬ 
ally occurred above a slope that was less precipitous. 
They wound in and out as the trail rounded gashes that 
extended from the lip above to the valley’s floor. 

“I’ll tell you what,” said Shonto, stopping suddenly 
and facing her: “This is not a natural trail, by any 
means. Though it’s ages old, there are evidences left 
of the work of man. This shelf has been hacked in 
the canon wall by somebody. It’s preposterous to 


166 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


believe that animals—even wild goats or bighorn 
sheep—could have climbed up and down along this 
wall and eventually worn a level trail. They can go 
almost where a fly can, but they never could have 
struggled along this wall in its natural state.” 

“But who could have built it?” asked Charmian. 

“I’m only too eager to find out,” returned the doc¬ 
tor. “We may discover something mighty valuable 
down there on the floor. And I’m convinced that the 
trail extends entirely down. I’ve seen deer tracks. I 
don’t believe deer would travel this trail, where there 
is not a blade for them to nibble, unless they were 
bound for the grass and the water down below. I’ve 
noticed ’coon tracks and skunk tracks and coyote tracks, 
too—but no sign of a man track. Yet men built this 
trail—hacked it in the side of this stone wall. I’ll 
show you the next time I see a place where this is 
evident.” 

They went on, Charmian’s face white, her upper 
teeth grasping her lower lip. She felt faint and ver¬ 
tiginous. Her knees shook. But she marched on 
bravely, hugging the upstanding wall on her left. 

They came to a portion of the descent where the 
trail was little more than eighteen inches in width. 
Above them an absolutely perpendicular wall upreared 
itself. Below them yawned the abyss, at its very feet 
the green river, which swung in to the wall in a great 
bend from the meadows. To follow that eighteen-inch 
shelf would be like walking along the eaves trough of 
a house. 

Charmian came to a halt. “Oh, I can’t! I can’t!” 


BEAR PASS 


167 

she moaned piteously. “I can’t go on another step, 
Doctor! Don’t ask me to! I’m—oh, I’m ill! I’m— 
I’m—” 

His long arms closed about her, and she dropped 
her head on his breast, sobbing nervously, shaking like 
an aspen. 

“There-there-there!” he soothed. “Don’t worry. 
I’ll fix you up. Lie down, now, and look up. That’ll 
give you courage and relieve you. I’ll fix you up so 
you can walk a tight rope and laugh.” 

He eased her to the ground and made her lie on her 
back. Her pretty face was dirty, and the tears had 
wriggled down her cheeks and washed elongated hiero¬ 
glyphics in the grime. She gulped and licked her lips 
and looked up bravely into the heavens. 

“There! There!” Shonto had removed his pack 
and was fumbling within for his medicine case. “Fix 
you up in a minute. Then you’ll feel like climbing tele¬ 
graph poles.” 

He was bending over her now. He took hold of one 
arm and pushed up the sleeve. She felt him squeezing 
the flesh. Then came a little stab of pain, and she 
rolled her eyes to see the glitter of a hypodermic 
syringe in his strong fingers. 

“Wh-what did you do to me?” 

“Hush! Never mind. Lie still a little and you’ll 
feel dandy. Just a shot of cocaine. Feel it yet?” 

“Ye-yes, I believe I do. I seem to be floating— 
floating; I’m getting light as a feather. My stars! I 
was never so happy in my life! I want to get up.” 

“Of course you do,” chuckled Shonto. “Not only 


168 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


that, but you want to tell the world, when you get up, 
that you’re equal to about anything, don’t you?” 

“Yes, I want to flap my wings and crow, even if I 
am a hen. I don’t care for anything. I’m a whizgimp. 
Mary Temple says that a whizgimp is a person who is 
happy, even though he knows one more hot day will 
send him to the bug house.” 

She sat up suddenly and unexpectedly, turned to her 
knees, and in springing lightly to her feet with a glad 
little laugh, her foot struck the medicine case. 

With a muttered oath the doctor sprawled in the 
trail and grasped at it. His frantic fingers touched it, 
but the contact served only to push it over the edge, 
and it went rattling and bounding down the cliff into 
the green waters of the river. 

“Come on!” Charmian giggled. “Let it go! What’s 
the difference! Lead out—I’m crazy to get down into 
the Valley of Arcana! And I can run along that nar¬ 
row shelf and laugh while I’m about it!” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


IN THE PALM OF THE MOUNTAINS 

S HONTO and his artificially elated companion 
continued their journey down the side of the 
steep cliffs without further mishap. The girl had 
taken the lead, stepping with a firm, springy stride, all 
horror of the abyss gone by reason of the potent drug. 
She was fearless but never reckless. The doctor had 
known that this would be the result of the hypodermic 
injection, so he did not worry about her safety and 
made no objection to her going first. 

Nevertheless he was worried—worried as never 
before. A great calamity had come upon all that were 
concerned in the expedition, but only Dr. Shonto knew 
that this was true. The lost medicine case was re¬ 
sponsible for it. It was so prodigiously serious that his 
homely face had turned a shade paler, and his mind 
was struggling desperately with the problem that it 
presented for him alone to solve. 

Eventually the pair rounded the last switchback, 
and followed a gently sloping trail, quite wide, to the 
level floor of the valley. They came out upon the floor 
through a rocky pass, an eighth of a mile above the 
point where the green river swung in so abruptly to the 
foot of the cliffs. The land was wooded here. Syca¬ 
mores, cottonwoods, water oaks, live oaks, willows and 

169 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


170 

alders bespoke a more temperate clime than they had 
passed through since hours before they reached the 
cabin of Shirttail Henry Richkirk. The valley was 
lower than Ranger Reed had estimated, and the ex¬ 
plorers had entered the Upper Sonoran Life Zone, 
where existence would be less problematical during 
rigorous seasons in the wilderness. 

There was little underbrush. The grass, though 
frost nipped, was still green. Digger pines were 
sprawling, their immense cones beneath the branches 
on the ground, many of them munched down to stems 
and scaly fragments by foraging squirrels. Linnets 
were singing in the willows. Wild canaries, mere dabs 
of pale yellow, flitted about importantly, bright-eyed, 
businesslike. 

Charmian’s brief sojourn in the land of Don’t-give-a- 
whoop was over. The effects of the cocaine were 
waning. Her mouth was dry, and she was nervous 
and depressed. The reaction had set in, but the melan¬ 
choly period would last little longer than the space of 
blissful unconcern for which it was the price. 

The doctor took her hand. “You won’t feel tough 
long,” he consoled her, as, together, they invaded the 
solitary valley. “I would have given you a little touch 
of morphine to counteract the effects of the cocaine, 
but— Well, you know why I couldn’t.” 

He heaved a sigh, and she looked up into his face 
questioningly. 

“Does the loss of your medicine case mean so very 
much to you?” she asked. 

“More than you know now,” he said soberly. “Not 


IN THE PALM OF THE MOUNTAINS 171 

only to me, but to you and Mary and Andy. But don’t 
question me just now, please. My mind was never so 
busy before. I must decide what is best to do—and 
decide right. And every expedient that presents itself 
strikes me as impossible.” 

“Why, how serious you are! You worry me, Doc¬ 
tor. Won’t you—” 

“Not now,” he interrupted hastily. “I shall be 
obliged to explain soon enough—after I have made 
my decision. To-morrow I’ll tell you—well, tell you 
all that I dare tell.” 

He came to a halt as he finished speaking. They 
were following a well-defined trail that led them 
among natural obelisks of stone, tall and freakish. 
There was no other route to the floor proper of the 
valley. And at their very feet yawned a hole of large 
dimensions. 

Shonto sank to his knees and looked in. “I thought 
as much,” he muttered. “Look, Charmian! See those 
skeletons down in there?” 

She knelt beside him, and when her eyes became 
accustomed to the gloom of the hole she saw the skele¬ 
tons and skulls of many animals. 

The walls of the hole were of solid rock, though 
masonry was not in evidence. The floor was level and 
many times wider than the mouth. This made the 
whole assume the shape of a funnel upside-down or an 
Indian wigwam. 

“Why, they couldn’t get out!” cried Charmian. “It 
is impossible to climb those walls.” 

“And you’ll notice that the hole is directly in the 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


172 

middle of the narrow pass from the cliffs above,” said 
he. “This, Charmian, is an Indian man-trap. In 
years gone by it was made here by residents of the 
valley to trap any enemies that might come down the 
trail to attack them. The hole was covered with light 
boughs, perhaps, with earth spread on top to hide 
them. I know this to be a trick of the Klamath Indians 
and the Pitt River tribes. But we are hundreds of 
miles from their stamping ground. We are in the 
rocks, you’ll notice. There is not a grain of dirt near 
us. This accounts for the hole’s not filling up with 
debris and disappearing through all these years. It’s 
been gouged with infinite pains in comparatively solid 
stone. It’s conclusive now that at one time the Valley 
of Arcana was inhabited and was the scene of tribal 
warfare. That was doubtless years before the fire 
swept down the forest and the chaparral locked the 
valley against intrusion.” 

“Oh, isn’t it all interesting?” she cried, dark eyes 
aglow. 

But the enthusiasm died out of them as she took 
note of the continued gravity of her companion’s mien. 

“Oh, you worry me so!” she complained again. 
“Please don’t look so solemn. Tell me, and let me 
help.” 

“You can’t,” he told her, forcing one of those rare 
smiles that almost beautified his face. “I alone can 
work out an answer to the problem. And I will know 
the answer by to-morrow morning. Meantime I’ll try 
my best to forget it.” 

A little farther on they found another man-trap, 


IN THE PALM OF THE MOUNTAINS 173 

similar to the first. Then they left the cemeterial 
region of obelisks and passed out upon the broad floor 
of the canon. 

Here yellow California poppies were blooming late 
among the grasses, their orange-gold beauty staying 
the destructive hand of old Jack Frost as a soft answer 
turneth away wrath. The air was warm, delectable. 
The willows and cottonwoods were losing their leaves, 
but as yet their branches were far from nude. Over a 
carpet of grass the explorers wandered toward the 
river and the untarnished land about it—toward gro¬ 
tesque cliffs that in the distance upreared themselves 
from the level land, toward enchanted forests that 
intrigued them from afar. 

Charmian’s depression had gone. She was bright¬ 
eyed, vivacious, eager as a child. Shonto subdued his 
gloomy thoughts and made himself enter into the spirit 
of the quest; for he knew that, for him, there might 
not be another day in the valley that they had come so 
far to see. 

They reached the river. It was wide and deep, and 
the jade-green hue of its waters that had lured them 
from above no longer was revealed. Height and dis¬ 
tance had given the river colour, for now it was like 
any other clear, cold mountain stream. Its course was 
boulder-strewn, its bottom often pebbly. Large trout 
flashed in the sunlit riffles, where the water was like 
shaved ice, or lay like amber pencils in shaded 
pools. 

They came upon ancient bridge abutments, fashioned 
of large stones, the crumbling red adobe mortar still 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


174 

to be seen in the crevices. Once a bridge had spanned 
the river at this point, probably merely a long pine log, 
axed to flatness on the upper side, and suspended be¬ 
tween the pillars, Shonto said. They followed the 
river’s course, almost despairing of finding a crossing. 
The doctor shot a jackrabbit sleeping under a bush, 
long ears laid back along his spine. They continued up 
the river for an hour, through a forest of oaks and 
alders and an occasional spruce; then they came to a 
narrow place through which a torrent roared. Here 
grew handily a clump of straight, tall alders, and with 
his hunting axe Shonto set about felling one so that it 
would fall across the cataract and bridge the gap for 
them. 

Alders are not tough-fibred, and soon the tree was 
swaying. It leaned nearly in the right direction, and 
Charmian pushed at it as he completed the last few 
strokes. It groaned and started down. Shonto sprang 
up and aided the girl at pushing, then jerked her back 
to safety as the tree crashed down. It fell directly 
athwart the stream, with each end resting on solid 
stone. 

Shonto crossed with both packs, walking sidewise, 
cautiously springing the trunk to test its strength. 
Then he returned to Charmian, face to the front, 
stepping easily and confidently. 

“A romance is never complete,” he smiled, “until 
the he character has carried the she character from one 
side of a stream of water to the other in his arms. Or 
maybe you’d prefer to go hippety-hop to the barber 
shop on my manly back.” 


IN THE PALM OF THE MOUNTAINS 175 

She studied a moment. Then, with a trace of colour 
sweeping her face, she faltered: 

“Which—whichever way you think better, Doctor.” 

He stooped and placed his long left arm behind her 
knees. His right arm he passed behind her back. 
He straightened, lifting her to his breast. 

“Don’t move,” he cautioned, “and don’t listen to the 
rush of the water. Relax. We’re off!” 

She closed both eyes as he stepped upon the trunk. 
Then she opened them again and looked up into his 
face. His strong jaw was set, she noted, but not a 
tremor did his body convey to hers. The roaring of 
the cataract was in her ears. Again she felt faint and 
dizzy. But without hesitation he placed one foot firmly 
and elastically before the other on the swaying bridge, 
until he stepped from it to the solid rocks on the other 
side. 

“Nothing to it, was there?” he laughed, without a 
sign of nervousness, as he gently stood her on her 
feet. 

“You have wonderful control over yourself, haven’t 
you?” she said. “You never even trembled.” 

“Didn’t I?” He was looking straight into her eyes. 
“I thought I was shaking like a leaf—especially when 
I reached this side and just before I set you down.” 

“Why, how funny! You certainly weren’t fright¬ 
ened.” 

“No, tempted,” said Shonto, while Charmian’s face 
flushed crimson. 

They wandered through an open forest of immense 
live and black oaks, with gnarled trunks and bulbous 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


176 

boles, and roots moss-upholstered where they were ex¬ 
posed. Gray moss hung from the upper limbs, draped 
and festooned with the delicacy of nature’s artistry. 
Wild grape vines clambered in all directions, drooped 
in loops down the trunks of lofty trees, or extended in 
masses from the ground to the topmost branches like 
the standing rigging of a sailing ship. The clusters of 
grapes were ripe and ready to fall with their seed to 
the earth from whence they sprang. 

They came upon large flat-topped stones, in which 
holes the size of a man’s head had been gouged. In 
these the Indian squaws had powdered the acorns to 
make flour for their native bread, using heavy stone 
pestles as pulverizers. 

A half-mile from the river they suddenly entered a 
clearing, studded with tall, monumental stones of 
granite, and with wide-branched oaks scattered about 
here and there. In the middle were the ruins of a 
house—the remnants of what had been a large house 
built of stones and sod and poles. 

“That,” said Shonto, “speaks plainly of some 
Northern tribe. The Northern Indians were further 
advanced than the tribes of Southern and Central Cali¬ 
fornia. The stone abutments back there made me 
believe that a tribe of comparatively high intelligence 
once occupied this valley. This ruin confirms it. Few 
of the California tribes built large public houses, as 
this undoubtedly was, for their ceremonial dances and 
big dinners and other social activities. I have never 
told you—for I hadn’t the slightest idea that we’d find 
evidences of Indian life in the valley—but I’ve made 


IN THE PALM OF THE MOUNTAINS 177 

quite a hobby of studying the aborigines of the Pacific 
Slope. So has Andy. We took it up together while 
nosing around in the mountains and on the desert, and 
we became intensely interested. I wish I could—” 
He came to a stop and gave her a look that was as near 
an admission of discomfiture as she had ever seen him 
reveal. “It’s getting late. No doubt there’s a spring 
close by, for this evidently is the site of the old villlage. 
Let’s camp for the night and cook our rabbit.” 

Close by the ruins of the community house they 
located the spring. It was in a ferny dell with mossy 
banks. Charmian stooped for water and saw a white 
object a little distance off, half hidden by the drooping 
fronds. Instinctively she knew what it was. She rose 
and walked around to it. It was the tibia bone of a 
human being, and, scattered here and there throughout 
the ferns, she discovered the remainder of the skeleton, 
including the skull. 

It gave her somewhat of a shock, but in the days to 
follow she was to grow accustomed to finding the 
bones and skulls of men in every conceivable place. 
This scatteration, the doctor held, bespoke the extinc¬ 
tion of the tribe from the ravages of some epidemic— 
possibly smallpox—rather than a war of annihilation. 
Particularly so because no weapons were discovered 
near skeletons they found on open land. 

The broiled jackrabbit was appetizing, for their 
stomachs were turned against salt meat and jerky. 
Though the air was frosty, the evening in the protected 
valley was pleasant, the smoke of the incense cedar of 
their campfire sweet. Dr. Inman Shonto had been taci- 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


178 

turn during the preparations for supper and the coming 
night. His face was grave, his eyes thoughtful. 
Finally Charmian asked: 

“Your case would sink, of course, wouldn’t it?” 

“I saw it sink out of sight,” he replied. “There 
were some surgical instruments in it that made it 
heavy. And the river must be deep where it fell, with 
that sheer wall above it. Besides, all of my medical 
supplies that were not in corked bottles would be 
ruined, provided we could drag it up. It’s a goner.” 

They made no further mention of the subject until 
the meal was over and Shonto, having heaped more 
wood on the coals, leaned back against the bole of a 
tree with pipe aglow. 

He puffed thoughtfully for several minutes, while 
the girl gazed into the leaping flames, silent, sensing 
that her companion was nerving himself to lay his 
troubles before her. Finally he knocked the dottle 
from his pipe, pocketed it, and looked at her with a 
brotherly smile. 

“I have decided sooner than I thought I should,” he 
began. “So you may as well know the worst to-night. 
I don’t think I’ll have reached a better solution by 
morning.” 

He smiled again, patiently, as does a strong man in 
the face of threatening disaster. 

“Charmian,” he said, “to-morrow I must start back 
to Mary and Andy and leave you here alone. I’ll get 
Andy and send him on to you, while I make an effort 
to take Mary back to Shirttail Henry’s—or at least as 
far as Mosquito. Then I go on to civilization, while 


IN THE PALM OF THE MOUNTAINS 179 

you and Andy wait for me to return \o the Valley of 
Arcana. I’ll probably come back to you in an aero¬ 
plane. Only by following that plan can Andy Jerome 
be saved.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


RIDDLES 

C HARMIAN was gazing across the fire at 
Shonto, half bewildered at his blunt statement. 
She had known that Andy was concerned in the 
disaster that had befallen the party, for long since she 
had connected the little tablets which he took daily 
with the loss of the medicine case. 

“Has Andy told you anything of his physical trou¬ 
bles?” Shonto questioned. 

“A little,” she replied. “When we were at Jorny 
Springs with Leach and Morley. He told me about 
the period in his boyhood that he can’t remember. He 
told me that it was necessary for him to take his tablets 
daily. Some kind of heart trouble, isn’t it?” 

The doctor nodded gravely. “Andy doesn’t hesitate 
to tell about it,” he said. “I imagined that you knew. 
Well—” 

“Pardon me just a moment,” she interrupted. “You 
haven’t said outright that it is heart trouble, Doctor.” 
“Have you any reason to think otherwise?” 

“Yes—now. It seems to me that you are still reti¬ 
cent—virtually evasive. You aren’t a practised dis¬ 
simulator, Doctor. Why do you try it?” 

“I’ll be frank with you,” he said, “if you’ll be as 
frank with me. Will you?” 

“Of course.” 

180 


RIDDLES 


181 


“I shall have to ask for your display of frankness 
first,” he went on. “You must answer this question 
before I shall feel at liberty to tell you why I have been 
close-mouthed: In the big canon that night before you 
and I left, did Andy ask you to marry him?” 

Her face went red, but she shook her head. 

“I believe you,” he said. “But Andy would be too 
excited to think of asking you to marry him, perhaps. 
He—both of you—would take marriage for granted. 
So I must ask another question: Didn’t he tell you that 
he loves you, and didn’t you surrender yourself to 
him?” 

Her long lashes covered her dark eyes, and for a 
space she declined to answer. Then she lifted her 
head and looked him straight in the face. 

“I suppose,” she said slowly, “that, according to 
the standardized procedure, I ought to say, ‘What 
right have you to ask me that?’ But you have the 
right—I suppose. Anyway, I consider it a fair ques¬ 
tion, and I’ll answer it as fairly. He did, and I did. 
But—but how did you know, Doctor?” 

The doctor’s laugh was brief and bitter. “When 
you two returned to camp,” he informed her, “the an¬ 
nouncement couldn’t have been plainer if you had 
pinned placards on your breasts. I knew what had 
happened. So did Mary Temple.” 

‘ ‘Well ?”—almost defiantly. 

“Well, I suppose there’s nothing to be said. Theo¬ 
retically I should back gracefully away, murmuring my 
congratulations. But I’ll not do that. I don’t give 
up so easily, Charmian. I am convinced that you a*fcd 


182 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

I are mated, and that you and Andy are not. I think 
that it would be a great misfortune for both of us if we 
don’t become man and wife. But I’ll play the game 
fair and square—with both you and Andy. And this 
desire to play square is what has kept my mouth closed 
on so many occasions. I won’t tell you why I think it 
unwise for you to marry Andy Jerome. On the con¬ 
trary, I’ll go out and leave you two here together and 
make every effort to get back with more medicine 
before you can learn for yourself that I am the man 
you should have for a husband instead of him. It’s 
hard, Charmian—hard to play square, when I hold 
my rival’s future in the hollow of my hand. But the 
ethics of my profession demand that I do all in my 
power to save him, and my conscience demands the 
same. 

“So to-morrow I must leave you, hoping that I can 
get back in time. There is no other way. I’ll make it 
back to Mary and Andy, and send Andy on here. 
With the aid of a compass and the directions that I can 
give him he will never miss the pass into the valley. 
You must hoist a garment or a blanket on a pole, which 
he will be able to see from the top of the wall and all 
the way down. Or a smudge of damp leaves will send 
up a stream of smoke to direct him to you. 

“Andy is a master mountaineer and woodsman. It 
is born in him; he inherited it from his Alps-climbing 
ancestors. He will be able to supply you with food 
while you are waiting for me to return. But listen 
carefully: As soon as he comes, have him show you 
how to make rabbit snares and pitfalls and deadfalls, 


RIDDLES 


183 

so that you will be able to get game if he becomes 
unable to do it for you. You two get to work at once 
gathering all the nuts and acorns you can—and you’d 
better be working at it before he comes. Stow them 
away. Have Andy show you how to pulverize the 
acorns and make Indian bread of the flour. Gather 
huckleberries—all you can—I saw a patch of them up 
the river from where we crossed to-day. The berries 
will be ripe now. Then you’ll find nuts in the cones of 
the pinon pines. Andy has a little fishing tackle. 
There should be mountain trout in the river. If In¬ 
dians could subsist in this valley without drawing upon 
civilization for supplies, trust Andy to do it. But the 
important point is that you must make him teach you 
all that he knows about foraging in the wilderness 
before he—before he becomes unable to help you. 
For that may happen.” 

“You are not making yourself clear, Doctor,” 
Charmian told him. “Why is all this necessary? Why 
can’t we all go out together? In other words, if Andy 
can get here to me why can’t he make it out to Shirt- 
tail Henry’s or Mosquito? And why can’t Mary 
Temple come here with Andy, if she is able to go with 
you over the mountains?” 

“Mary deceived you, with my knowledge,” confessed 
Shonto. “Her ankle isn’t sprained. She has a broken 
rib. She could never crawl through that chaparral. 
It would break her in two, almost. But she can walk 
in an erect position, after a fashion, with me to help 
her. Anyway, there’s nothing else to be done; we’ll 
have to try it. And Andy—” 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


184 

“Why did Mary Temple tell me she had a sprained 
ankle when she had broken her rib?” demanded 
Charmian. 

“She wanted to force you and me into the wilder¬ 
ness together,” explained Shonto, without a sign of 
contrition. “That’s what I believe now. I know she 
doesn’t approve of Andy Jerome as a husband for you. 
And she has hinted that she wants you to marry me. 
That’s frank enough, isn’t it? But she told me that 
she was afraid of putting a stop to your expedition if 
she confessed to a broken rib. She knew that she 
could walk with her rib broken—see?—and thought 
that you would insist on taking her back and spoiling 
the fun. But if she pleaded a sprained ankle, you 
would imagine that she couldn’t walk one way or the 
other, and it would be just as well to leave her there 
until she could walk again, while you went on with 
your hunt for the valley. It worked out to her satis¬ 
faction, as you see.” 

“And now you think she deliberately planned to get 
you and me to continue the trip together?” 

“I’m afraid so,” smiled Shonto, “though I give my 
word it didn’t occur to me at the time. I never gave a 
thought to the old trick of making one person think he 
has had a square deal in drawing straws by the use of 
two whole matches. You see, there was no short 
match for Andy to draw. Both matches were whole. 
The one who drew the long straw was elected to stay 
in the canon. When Andy saw that he had drawn an 
entire match, he didn’t think to ask to see the other 


RIDDLES 185 

one, but considered himself defeated then and 
there.” 

“I think it was abominable of Mary Temple!” the 
girl said sharply. 

“Perhaps it was so,” admitted Shonto. “Neverthe¬ 
less, the fact remains that she was, and always is, 
working for what she thinks your best interests. And 
it struck me as almost noble of her to feign a sprained 
ankle in order to keep you on the quest. Sending me 
out with you occurred to her later, I think. At the 
time she played only to keep your expedition moving— 
and it called for a certain amount of sacrifice for a 
crippled, middle-aged woman to remain in that deep 
canon all alone.” 

Charmian made no further comment on Mary’s well- 
meant perfidy. She thought deeply for a long time, 
and when she spoke she reverted to a question that still 
remained unanswered: 

“Why can’t Andy go out with the rest of us if he is 
able to get to the Valley of Arcana?” 

“It will require a great deal more time for us to get 
out with the crippled Mary than it will for Andy to 
find you here,” Shonto explained. “And he might— 
It might happen that he would succumb on the way. 
Andy Jerome, Charmian, is an experiment. I know 
that he can hold out for three or four days, but how 
much longer I don’t know, because I’ve never experi¬ 
mented with him to the extent of shutting off his medi¬ 
cine to find out. Andy is my friend—his family have 
been my friends for many years. So I really don’t 


186 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


know what would happen if we were many days on the 
back trail or if a blizzard came on and left us storm¬ 
bound in the mountains. But here in the Valley of 
Arcana, where everything is smiling and there will be 
an abundance of food for some time to come, he will 
be safe with you to care for him. I simply can’t risk 
taking him out.” 

“It’s the loss of his supply of tablets, of course,” 
murmured the widow. “Why didn’t you leave him a 
sufficient supply?” 

“He has as much as he ever carries when I am with 
him,” said the doctor. “I usually carry the main stock 
when we are out in the wilderness together. I have 
always thought it safer to keep the greater part of it 
myself. I don’t go into so many difficult places as 
Andy does. I don’t take the risks that he does. Then 
if something happened to his supply, I’d still have 
enough for him. Perhaps it was foolish for me to 
bring along any at all on the trip from the canon, but 
I have become so accustomed to keeping it in my medi¬ 
cine case that I followed the usual procedure. I knew 
that Andy would not be content to stay with Mary all 
the time. He’ll be scouring the hills and canons in 
search of things to interest him. And he always takes 
his tablets. If he had all of them, he might lose them, 
as I did. You see, that’s the way I reasoned. I’m 
Andy’s guardian—a poor one, I confess now. And the 
difficulty is that I’m never free to talk over his malady 
with him or others. To be a little more frank still, it 
is a secret, even to Andy himself. This time I reasoned 
wrong—if I reasoned at all—and simply didn’t do as 


RIDDLES 


187 

I did from force of habit. And Andy must have more 
medicine just as soon as I can get it to him, for I don’t 
know how long he’ll last without it when his present 
supply is gone. 

“So there’s the nut-shell truth of the situation. Mary 
can’t come here; Andy doesn’t dare to try to make it 
out. You must stay here in the valley and take care 
of Andy. I must get Mary out and hurry to a point 
where I can send a wire for more tablets. There’s no 
other alternative. I’ve thought it all out; looked at the 
matter from every angle.” 

“But—but what shall I do?” she puzzled. “What 
can I do to help Andy? What am I to expect?” 

“You can do nothing,” replied the doctor. “I mean, 
I can’t give you any instructions. Neither can Andy. 
When—if anything happens, you will soon know what 
to do. I really can’t tell you any more, Charmian. It 
wouldn’t be fair to him. For it may transpire that 
nothing at all will happen—and that’s what I’m hoping 
for. I must trust to Fate, for I myself am ignorant of 
what will be the result if Andy’s supply of tablets runs 
out before I can get back with more. Neither do I 
know how soon the result will begin to show. And, as< 
I said, in fairness to him I must not prepare you for 
anything simply because nothing at all may happen.. 
For more reasons than one I don’t want you to marry 
Andy Jerome; but I’ll not be the one to tell you any¬ 
thing that might keep you from doing so.” 

“Why, Doctor!” she cried. “You’ve done nothing 
but bewilder me. I can’t imagine what you’re talking 
about at all. It’s all riddles.” 


188 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

“I realize that,” he confessed, “but I consider my¬ 
self helpless to make the thing clearer.” 

“I don’t believe Andy has heart trouble at all!” she 
said half angrily. “It’s something about the glands, I 
know. That accounts for your repeated refusals to 
tell me much about your work. Isn’t that right?” 

He nodded in agreement. 

Another period of staring into the flames on her 
part; then she cried passionately: 

“Oh, I don’t want to stay here alone and wait for 
Andy! And I’m afraid—afraid of what may happen 
to him! But if I must stay, it’s cruel of you to leave 
me in ignorance of what to expect. And I can’t even 
talk it over with Andy, it seems.” 

“No, he knows less about it than you do,” Shonto 
told her. “His parents and I have deceived him into 
thinking he has had heart trouble for years. And no 
one but his parents and I know the truth.” 

“Oh, that sounds terrible! You think I shouldn’t 
marry Andy, and yet—” 

“If Andy remains all right,” he cut in quickly, “there 
is no positive reason why you shouldn’t marry him. I 
think, however, that he is not the man for you—and 
it’s fair enough for me to make that statement for the 
simple reason that I’m convinced I’m the man for you. 
I refuse to call to your mind any of Andy’s faults. I 
have enough of my own. If he has any, you must find 
them out for yourself. But I’ll make you marry me 
instead of him because you will see that I’m the man to 
make your life complete, and that you’re the woman 
to make mine complete. You don’t love Andy. I know 


RIDDLES 


189 

you don’t. You merely think you do. His magnificent 
young manhood has carried you off your feet, and 
you’ve not gone deeper into the matter. Blind, physi¬ 
cal love you have given him—but it will pass, 
Charmian. And that’s enough—positively all. We’ll 
turn in and try to forget it all for to-night. And to¬ 
morrow early I’m off to send Andy to you. I know 
you’ll care for him if—if he needs it. But if you 
believe in God, pray to him that he won’t! Good 
night. My bed is over there by the big oak. Call me 
if you need me for anything.” 


CHAPTER XX 


THE INTERIM OF DOUBTS 

C HARMIAN did not begin sobbing until, stand¬ 
ing at the edge of the grove that surrounded 
the ruins of the ancient village, she saw a tiny 
speck moving slowly up the narrow trail which zig¬ 
zagged along the sides of the cliffs from the Valley of 
Arcana. The moving speck was Dr. Shonto, and he 
was leaving her alone in a vast wilderness, filled with 
doubts and dread and loneliness and grave forebod¬ 
ings. She sank to the ground, laid her arms on a fallen 
tree, and drenched them with her tears. 

He had held her hand a long time in parting, smiling 
at her in his patient, benign way. His smile had been 
encouraging, though he had not told her to be brave. 
It was a compliment to her courage, she thought, that 
he had taken it for granted that she would be intrepid 
and had considered mere words of emboldenment as 
idle. He realized, she reasoned, that a girl who would 
set out to accomplish such an enormous task as hunting 
for an unexplored valley in an unmapped wilderness 
would have the bravery to meet with cheerfulness any 
unforeseen emergency that might arise. 

When her cry was over she returned to camp and 
began to work as the surest way of overcoming her 
loneliness. Not many provisions were left, as Shonto 

had been obliged to take something along with him to 

190 


THE INTERIM OF DOUBTS 191 

sustain life between the valley and the waiting pair in 
the canon. Charmian searched for and found a huckle¬ 
berry patch, black with fruit which so far had resisted 
frost. She spent the remainder of the morning gather¬ 
ing berries, but realized as she worked that, since she 
had no way of preserving them, they represented food 
only for temporary use. She was not fond of fruit, 
either, but she forced herself to eat quantities of the 
juicy huckleberries at noon in order to save the staples 
in her pack. 

That afternoon, wandering through the grove, she 
came upon a hut which was fairly well preserved. The 
construction was typically Indian. Ordinarily such 
huts are made by first sinking in the ground a hole 
about five feet in depth. Around this pit stout poles 
are planted deep. These are bent in at the tops until 
they nearly touch, and are bound about with bark or 
strips of hide. The hole at the top allows the smoke 
to go through, and it also serves as an entrance. A 
short ladder or notched pole on the inside leads to the 
hole, and leaning against the structure on the outside is 
a corresponding pole or ladder. The entire framework 
of poles is covered with earth to a depth of several 
inches. 

In this instance, however, the pit was a natural one, 
formed in solid rock. It probably had been a pothole 
in an ancient creek bed. With this substantial begin¬ 
ning, the builder of the hut had constructed the above¬ 
ground portion along sturdier lines. Instead of poles 
he had used the trunks of small redwood trees ten 
inches in diameter, and no other soft wood resists the 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


192 

ravages of time so well. Unable to sink the butts in 
the solid stone, he had dragged great slabs of rock and 
piled them about the base of his dwelling as anchors 
and had covered the whole with earth in far greater 
quantities than are commonly employed. 

The result was that he had left a monument to his 
diligence and sound constructive principles, and it gave 
promise of a sheltered home for Charmian. 

She noted most of the details when she had found an 
ancient notched pole and used it as a ladder to climb to 
the entrance in the roof. Shonto had explained the 
construction of these huts to her, so she knew how to 
go about getting into the seemingly doorless hovel. 
There was not much earth left on the sloping sides, 
but the straight, peeled redwood logs were close to¬ 
gether, and the cracks between were narrow ones. 

The light filtering in between these cracks revealed 
the interior as she clung to the top of the crude ladder 
and looked down through the hole. 

As she had shudderingly expected, the first things 
that she saw were human skeletons, yellow rather than 
bleached, on the stone floor below her. The notched 
pole of the interior had broken off at the middle, and 
the two parts, old and decayed, lay prone. She dreaded 
to enter, but she thought that she must find a better 
refuge than the broad, unprotected outdoors. There 
probably were mountain lions in the valley, and maybe 
grizzlies were not altogether extinct in this remote 
region. She sat astride the upper ends of the logs and 
contrived to drag her notched pole up the side and 
lower it through the hole. To live in there she must 


THE INTERIM OF DOUBTS 193 

remove the skeletons, and she dreaded to touch them 
as she had never before dreaded anything in her life. 

She clambered down to the rock bench surrounding 
the hole. She crawled over the edge and lowered her¬ 
self backward into the five-foot pit. There were three 
skeletons, the bones of which were unscattered. Dry, 
brown skin clung to them, wrinkled and harder than a 
drum-head. Mats of black hair had slipped from the 
skulls and made cushions under them. With a feeling; 
of deep repugnance she set about her inevitable task 
and began lifting the dry bones to the bench above. 
Many of them she later was able to pitch through the 
hole in the roof, to hear them clattering down the red¬ 
wood logs to the ground outside. Larger portions that 
persisted in hanging together she laboriously carried to 
the top and dropped. 

When this disagreeable task had been finished she 
gave more attention to the interior. 

Dirt had sifted in, of course, and the stone floor was 
partially covered with it. Rain also would enter at 
every crack and settle in a pool in the rocky pit. She 
wondered if, when the hut was in shape, the earth 
thrown over it had kept it dry. If it were to snow 
before it rained, she thought, the snow covering might 
be effective in that respect. She knew that Eskimos 
lived in huts of snow, but she did not know what held 
them up. 

She found red pottery, crude and interesting—water 
ollas and great bowls and smaller dishes. She found a 
skin garment, well tanned and well preserved. It had 
been inlaid with brilliant duck scalps, the greater part 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


194 

of which had succumbed to the erosive hand of time. 
She found nose rings and goose-quill ornaments and 
arrowheads of flint and obsidian and a bowl-shaped 
< basketwork cap which once had been adorned with the 
bright feathers of woodpeckers and jays, for the rem¬ 
nants of them lay all about it. There were elk-horn 
knives and hatchets and awls of the sharpened bones 
of mule deer. And on a slab of bone, taken from the 
skeleton of some large animal and cut square, she 
found a crude carving unmistakably depicting the 
rather revolting episode of a woman vomiting up a 
frog. 

She forgot her troubles, digging in the dirt for more 
relics with the primitive tools of the dead. She found 
a fish spear with a yew-wood shaft and a head of vol¬ 
canic glass—a veritable treasure. She did not notice 
the darkening of the hut as the ephemeral winter sun 
sank swiftly nearer to the saw-tooth cliffs that towered 
about the Valley of Arcana. Then of a sudden almost 
no light at all streamed in through the cracks, and the 
hut was dark and cold. She shuddered, scrambled to 
the bench, climbed the notched pole as hurriedly as pos¬ 
sible, and, not stopping to drag it out after her, slid 
down the sloping side and landed in a heap on the 
ground. 

Twilight had come. Night would follow soon, with 
the tall cliffs to shut off the last remnants of the sun¬ 
light from the valley. She hurried to her camp, spread 
her blankets, and pondered over what she would eat 
for supper. 

There was not much choice. She had a little bacon, 


I 95 


THE INTERIM OF DOUBTS 

a little flour, a little coffee, a quantity of salt, and a can 
of baking powder. Her huckleberries were heaped 
upon the ground, and she looked at them askance. She 
had dined on huckleberries at noon—had forced her¬ 
self to do so. She decided to fry some bacon for the 
resulting grease, to be used in making biscuits. The 
bacon she would not eat then, but would have it cold 
for supper to-morrow evening. One meal a day of 
staples was all that she could afford, she told herself, 
until Andy came with more supplies. If he came! 

She strove to keep Andy from her thoughts. To 
think of him was to worry—and she must not worry. 
Time for that when he came to her—when they could 
worry together and he could comfort her. She was 
going to fight her way bravely through the ordeal until 
he came—and then she would relax and let him take 
the initiative and relieve her of the strain. But how 
long could he hold out? And what dread thing was 
threatening him? But there! She must not think of 
that. Dr. Shonto had consoled her with the repeated 
remark that perhaps nothing would happen at all, pro¬ 
vided he—Shonto—was able to get back soon enough. 
Provided! But she shook her head resolutely and went 
to work at getting supper while the shadows of night 
enshrouded the valley and coyotes began their evening 
concert in the hills. 

The days and nights that passed until the coming of 
the expected one were fraught with torture. Charmian 
was not afraid in the general meaning of the word, but 
the mysterious sink, so serene and quiet and remote, 
awed her and filled her with strange forebodings that 


196 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

she could not shuffle off. She spent the days at gather¬ 
ing acorns, scolded at frequently by Douglas squirrels 
who claimed the entire crop between the valley walls. 
The pinon nuts, too, they considered theirs, and told 
her so with angry chatterings, made more emphatic by 
the gestures of their jerking tails. A slight midnight 
rain brought to life near the river a bed of mushrooms 
of a variety which she had often gathered on the 
Marin hills across the bay from San Francisco. These 
she garnered eagerly, and they grew in quantities. She 
feasted on fresh ones for several meals, dipping them 
in thin batter and frying them in bacon grease, or 
stewing them. Many she dried. And then she be¬ 
thought herself to dry wild grapes and huckleberries, 
whereupon a new and engrossing task took form. All 
day long she managed to keep busy. This helped to 
keep away the blues, and at night she found herself so 
weary that sleep came easily. 

She had lighted her signal fire, heaping on green 
boughs to make dense smoke. There was little wind 
in the valley, and the smoke streamed aloft in a grace¬ 
ful spiral above the treetops. Every morning she 
rebuilt the fire and heaped on boughs when it was 
burning brightly. And now came a day when she stood 
often at the edge of the grove and scanned the zigzag 
trail into the sink with her binoculars. Or, gathering 
nuts and acorns and mushrooms in the open, stopped 
her work and trained her glasses about every fifteen 
minutes. 

And at noon one day she was rewarded by the sight 
of a tiny speck descending along the trail. She shouted 


THE INTERIM OF DOUBTS 197 

in her eagerness and loneliness, unmindful that her 
lover was miles away. She glanced once to make sure 
that the smoke was still streaming aloft from her 
signal fire, then began running toward the river. If 
she could bring herself to cross the log bridge she could 
run into the open on the other side and travel a long 
way in the direction of the northern cliffs before Andy 
had reached the bottom of the sink. She hesitated only 
a little when she reached the fallen tree, then climbed 
astride it and worked her way over the boiling water, 
gripping with hands and calves. 

They sighted each other in one of the level meadows 
of the river bottom. Andy shouted to her; she shrilled 
a glad reply. Then both started running, came to¬ 
gether panting for breath, and hung in each other’s 
arms. 

Then once more Charmian Reemy sobbed, this time 
with her tousled head on the broad shoulder of the 
man who loved her. She had promised herself this 
weeping spell as a reward for holding back her tears 
throughout the days and nights just past; and now she 
rewarded herself abundantly and without reserve. But 
hers were tears of gladness and relief. Nothing was to 
happen to Andy! The doctor had needlessly distressed 
her. Here he was in her arms, big and strong and 
virile and handsome as a god—what ever could happen 
to such a man! There was food in the valley—nuts 
and game and fish. And if the huckleberries would 
only last she would be content to live on them alone, 
while Andy was with her in the valley. The doctor 
might never return if he chose to leave them there 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


198 

together. What mattered it, when she had Andy? 
The Valley of Arcana had lost its grimness. It was a 
valley of happy smiles, blessed by nature, sun kissed, 
gloriously resplendent from wall to wall. It was warm 
noontide and the sun was overhead—and she was cry¬ 
ing happily on Andy’s shoulder. 

“And had Mary Temple and the doctor started out 
when you left?” she asked finally, wiping her tears on 
a sleeve of her flannel shirt. 

“Yes, dear—we all started at the same time. Doc¬ 
tor Shonto told me about Mary’s faking a sprained 
ankle. She’ll have a time of it with that broken rib, 
I’m thinking. But I guess there was no other way. 
What did the doctor tell you about me, Charmian?” 

“He wouldn’t explain anything,” she answered. 
“Wouldn’t warn me at all beyond telling me that I 
couldn’t be of any help to you if—if anything hap¬ 
pened.” 

“Don’t worry,” he told her lightly. “Nothing at all 
is going to happen. I have almost twice as much dope 
as Doctor Shonto thought I had; but still the quantity 
is small compared with the store he carried. Anyway, 
he wouldn’t trust me to try and make the trip out on 
it, for some one would have had to return here for you, 
and days would have been wasted. But he cheered me 
up—and told me to pass it on to you—by saying that 
there probably was no danger at all, and that every¬ 
thing depended on his getting back to us in a couple of 
weeks or more. That ought to be easy for him.” 

“But if it snows heavily, Andy?” 

“Not a sign of a cloud now. A little rain a couple 


THE INTERIM OF DOUBTS 


*99 

of nights ago, but just a shower. Doesn’t mean any¬ 
thing at all as regards the setting in of winter. In the 
altitudes it may snow, even, in June, July, and August 
—any time. He’ll make it all right, and we’ll all get 
out before snow flies. 

“It all seems ridiculous to me, Charmian. Here I 
am as strong as an ox, healthy and whole, and enjoying 
life immensely. But I have been told ever since I can 
remember that if I don’t take those infernal tablets 
regularly I’ll die. Yet Doctor Shonto never has warned 
me against putting great strains on my heart. Always 
has struck me as a funny sort of heart trouble that I’m 
afflicted with. But I don’t know anything about dis¬ 
eases of the heart. This can’t be a common one, 
though, can it?’’ 

“It’s not your heart at all, Andy,” she said. “The 
doctor told me so. It’s something else—a secret be¬ 
tween him and your parents. And I don’t know what 
to expect if the doctor fails to get in before your tab¬ 
lets give out.” 

This continually worried her. The doctor had said 
that Andy’s life depended on regular doses of the 
medicine, but he had not exactly warned her of death. 
There was something dreadful back of his solemn 
words which convinced her that Andy’s state would be 
worse than death—a living death of some sort, her 
reason kept on torturing her. 

“Well, no use to worry, sweetheart,” he said 
lightly. “Chances are all of your fears are useless. 
Have you had plenty to eat? I brought every pound 
I could lug. There was plenty left for the doctor and 


200 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

Mary to get back to the cache on. They can load up 
fresh there. That is, Doctor Shonto can—Mary 
can’t pack a pound. What have you been doing? 
Discovered anything? Doctor Shonto told me about 
his advising you to gather all the nuts and acorns you 
could before I came. Got any?” 

“Yes—piles. I gathered them in order to forget 
myself.” 

“Good idea. Let’s get to your camp now. I’m a 
wizard in the woods, and the doctor told me that the 
valley is well supplied with things to eat. I’ll show 
you how to roast the pine nuts and make hellota — 
Indian acorn bread—and make traps and things. This 
will be a regular picnic for us, Charmian. Prettiest 
spot I ever saw. I’m keen to get to nosing around. 
We’ll have the time of our young lives.” 

“Yes, everything will be interesting—now,” said 
Charmian, with a happy sigh of relief. “If—if 
only—” 

“There! There!” laughed Andy. “No ‘if onlys* 
about it. Forget it and let’s begin our castaway life 
with nothing but anticipation.” 


CHAPTER XXI 

THE CAVE OF HYPOCRITICAL FROGS 

T HEY lived in an enchanted land, bright and 
tranquil under an Indian-summer sun while 
mid-day hours endured, crisp with frost of 
mornings, calmly cold throughout the nights. 

Charmian had not transferred her dwelling-place to 
the redwood hut after all her labours at removing 
the ghastly reminders of a vanished clan. Andy, 
when he saw it, opined that it would be far from 
water-tight despite his efforts with a wooden shovel 
that he had made with hunter’s axe and jackknife. 
What they wanted to do, he said, was to find a cave 
in the cliffs somewhere up the river. Who ever heard 
of castaways living in anything but a cave! And there 
must be caves in those craggy cliffs. Where was the 
romance of the Valley of Arcana if it could boast no 
caves? Anyway, he was not content to remain in the 
grove that harboured the ruined village. There were 
over a hundred square miles in the enchanted valley, 
and few of them had been explored. 

They set off early the following morning, Charmian 
loaded with the packs, Andy carrying her store of 
nuts, acorns and half-dried fruit and mushrooms in 
a blanket. They struck out for the river, deciding 
to explore its mysteries first. If it was in reality the 
lost river of the upper benches, Andy wanted to see 

how it found its erratic way into the valley. 

201 


202 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


They crossed smiling meadows, lush with bronze- 
green grass. Once, from a little rise, they caught a 
glimpse of the distant blue lake. They came upon 
herds of deer which were too curious to continue their 
flight after the first startled dash, but turned and sur¬ 
veyed them in blank amaze. A skunk was hunting 
bugs in the grass, rooting in the turf, his plume asway 
above his striped back. The banks of the river were 
endowed with graceful willows, alders, yews, incense 
cedars, cottonwoods, oaks, California buckeyes, red 
madrones, spicy bays, and occasional pines and spruces, 
with grapevines crawling and climbing everywhere. 
The river bottoms were rank with huckleberry bushes,, 
and Andy said: 

“Find a bee tree and we’ll get some honey and pre¬ 
serve those berries and grapes in Indian jars—if we 
find any more. Stretch a piece of hide over the mouth 
and seal it with spruce gum. Stay here all our lives, 
by golly! No? Yes?” 

It was like a park, this Valley of Arcana. Meadows 
merged into woodland stretches or necks of timber, 
to continue on the other side as grassy and level as 
before. The river plunged over outcroppings of bed¬ 
rock, often in foaming cataracts from ten to fifty feet 
in height. In a neck of woods, in a drift that had 
collected about the roots of trees, they found a large 
canoe. Flat bottomed it was, blunt at either end, 
and burned and gouged from solid sycamore. Near 
it on the river bank they found an ancient temescal, 
or Indian sweat house. 

These were the men’s clubs of the Rogue River 


THE CAVE OF HYPOCRITICAL FROGS 203 

Indians or the Klamaths, Andy said. The canoe, also, 
pointed either to these tribes or Pitt River tribes, all 
belonging to the north. The temescals were never 
entered by the women, he explained. The males 
lolled in them after bathing in the icy water, which 
usually followed a terrific sweat over heated stones, 
or beside a blazing fire. The canoe, he thought, might 
prove serviceable if they could discover some means 
of calking the checks and cracks that time had 
wrought in its sides and bottom. 

They camped at noon by the river, and Andy cast 
a line for trout. They rose to the bait readily, some 
big ones so eager as to leap entirely from the water 
at the cast. They roasted them wrapped in leaves, 
and buried in the heated ground, Indian fashion. The 
trees were alive with grey squirrels, impish little 
Douglas squirrels, and impertinent chipmunks. Birds 
sang ceaselessly. Their tramp of the afternoon 
showed them herd after herd of deer, and once a herd 
of antelope. Quail, grouse, jackrabbits and the little 
“blue peter” rabbit in the plateau chaparral, ducks, 
mudhens and dabchicks on the river, a condor, rarest 
of California vultures, riding overhead in the beryl 
heavens. Closely flying flocks of wild pigeons threw 
hovering shadows across the valley, into which they 
swooped to feed on the bitter black berries of the 
cascara bush. As they neared a pyramidal mountain 
in the centre of the valley they saw bighorn sheep 
browsing off the brush. 

Abreast the mountain they came upon rugged coun¬ 
try, where the river plunged down incessantly in a 


204 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

hundred falls and cataracts. And here, as they crossed 
the ridge, Andy found his cave and made lengthy 
apology to the Valley of Arcana for doubting its 
claims to romance. 

It was in the ridge of rocks that extended at right 
angles to the river on both sides. If they made a 
habitation of the cave there would be constantly in 
their ears the roar of the waterfall that found its way 
through the ridge and plunged down about thirty feet 
to the lower level. Centuries of the rushing water 
had worn down the ridge, and the stream leaped 
through a narrows, with the piled-up boulders tower¬ 
ing above it on either side. On the side where the 
cave was located grew a clump of sucker redwoods, 
which had sprung up from a mother stump about six 
feet in diameter. Examination of the perdurable 
stump showed that the original tree had been felled 
with axes. Many years had elapsed since its fall, for 
the redwood is of tremendously slow growth, and the 
tall, slim suckers that surrounded the stump were a 
foot in diameter. Andy decided that he could cut 
down two of them and cause them to fall side by side 
directly across the chasm. This would give them a 
bridge from one rocky eminence to the other, and it 
would hang twenty feet or more above the waterfall. 

Though all evidences of a beaten trail to the cave 
had disappeared, it was an easy matter to trace the 
upward progress of the one that had existed in the 
days of the lost tribe. Boulders of large size evi¬ 
dently had been rolled away from the most logical 
route. They wound their way in and out among the 


THE CAVE OF HYPOCRITICAL FROGS 205 

towering rocks to the mouth of the cave, probably 
seventy feet above the narrows. From below they 
had seen its gaping mouth, but were fearful that it 
would prove a shallow disappointment—a mere niche 
in the rocky hillside. But it turned out to be a sub¬ 
stantial, denlike tunnel, forty feet or more in length. 

Men had not fashioned it, but within they had 
moved huge boulders to one side or the other to make 
more room in the middle. Irregular stones had covered 
the floor, too, and smaller ones had been thrown into 
the crevices, with dirt piled on top, to level it ofl. The 
width and height were probably fifteen feet. 

They found more skeletons, more pottery, more 
implements of war and the chase, and crude tools of 
stone and bone. The boulders inside were decorated, 
designs and hieroglyphics having been hacked below 
the surface. Some sort of red paint of a decidedly 
perdurable quality had been worked into the gouged 
lines. Once again Charmian saw an unhappy lady 
ridding herself of the frog that she had swallowed. 
But in this instance she did not suffer alone. If 
misery loves company, she must have been in an 
amiable mood, despite her throes. For no less than 
a dozen of her unfortunate sisters were engaged in a 
like performance on boulders and stony walls. 

“I’ve got it, Charmian,” Andy cried with the en¬ 
thusiasm of an amateur ethnographer. “I know now 
what it means. The northern tribes had woman doc¬ 
tors, and they treated their patients by sucking the 
flesh. They were supposed to suck out the evil spirit 
that was tormenting them, and this evil spirit often 


206 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

took the form of a snake or a lizard or a frog. In 
order to make good, a doctress is said to have some¬ 
times swallowed a live frog before beginning treat¬ 
ment; and when she threw it up the patient and his 
relatives were convinced that the faker had done her 
best. This was probably the cave of the doctresses. 
Say—doesn’t it stand to reason?” 

“How pleasant!” laughed Charmian. “I see now 
how the nursery term ‘quack frog’ had its birth. Let’s 
remove the wizards’ remains and take possession of 
the cave. Can we ever make it cheerful after what 
you’ve told me ? I christen it the Cave of Hypocritical 
Frogs. That’s rather long and confusing, but so the 
Indians might have called it had there been unbelievers. 
We could live in this cave indefinitely, Andy. It will 
be dry and warm, don’t you think? I hope no bear 
has decided to hibernate here throughout the winter.” 

Somehow or other both of them were always un¬ 
consciously planning for a long stay in the Valley of 
Arcana. Andy had proposed hunting up a bee tree, 
the honey from which might be used in preserving 
grapes and huckleberries. He had planned a bridge 
over the waterfall, when a mile below they had passed 
a riffle which offered an easy fording. Now Charmian 
was looking at the cave in the light of a more or less 
permanent habitation. She thought of this directly 
after she had spoken and bit her lip in vexation. 
Wasn’t Dr. Shonto to hurry right back to them? 
Two weeks, at the most, and he should be worming 
his way into the valley, searching the distances for 
the smoke of their signal fire. She threw off her sud- 


THE CAVE OF HYPOCRITICAL FROGS 207 

den depression. It was best to be prepared. The 
fact that they were planning for months to come 
meant nothing. That was only the part of wisdom. 
And they had nothing else to do. What if they did 
leave behind them two weeks hence the results of their 
trifling labours in the valley? It was only play. 
Weren’t they like children playing at the game of 
keeping house? 

Andy removed the skeletons, cleaned house, carried 
their belongings up to the cave, and arranged things 
for their temporary comfort. Then he went to catch 
some trout in the swirling pool below the waterfall 
for the evening meal. 

Charmian slept in the cave that night, Andy in the 
open. They were about and had breakfast early in 
the morning, and they spent the greater part of the 
day in carrying flat stones into the cave to be used in 
building a partition. The inner room was to be the 
girl’s, while Andy would occupy the space within the 
mouth of the cave and guard her. They doubted 
whether there was anything to guard her from, but 
it seemed the proper thing to do. 

When the stone partition was up Andy hacked at 
two of the redwood suckers with his hunter’s axe until 
they fell almost side by side across the water. The 
top of the last to fall, however, was pitched off when 
it struck the top of the first down. This left a rather 
wide gap between the trunks, so they busied themselves 
at cutting and carrying poles, which they laid close 
together and parallel with the stream, from trunk to 
trunk. 


208 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

“That’ll make a better bridge than ever,” Andy ap¬ 
proved. “You won’t be afraid to cross now. What 
next? Let’s see—there’s no particular hurry about 
sweating the bitterness out of the acorns, or furnish¬ 
ing our home, or anything like that. We can do all 
such things after the winter sets in.” (There it was 
again!) “What d’ye say we go back and drag that 
canoe out of the drift pile and see what we can do 
toward filling the cracks?” 

They spent a day at this task. Spruce gum, they 
found, filled the gaps admirably and stuck there, 
hardening when the clumsy craft was in the water. 
Andy got in it and guided it about with a makeshift 
paddle. But the current was swift and threatened to 
carry him down to one of the many cataracts, so he 
quickly beached the canoe and dragged it up on the 
pebbles until he had time to make a paddle that would 
serve. 

They busied themselves during following days at 
turning the acorns from cold water into hot water, 
and reversing the process time and again to “sweat” 
out the bitterness. There were large stone mortars 
in the cave, and in these, with the pestles they found, 
they powdered nuts for their daily use and made 
rather tasteless bread and pasty bellota of the 
powder. Their grapes and huckleberries and mush¬ 
rooms were thoroughly cured by now, and they stowed 
them away. They gathered acorns, loose pinon nuts, 
and buckeyes by the thousand, catching them like 
squirrels. The cones of the pinon pines they heaped 
in piles and built fires over them, which loosened the 


THE CAVE OF HYPOCRITICAL FROGS 209 

nuts and roasted them at one operation. Andy 
taught Charmian to make and set figure-four traps 
for rabbits. Of willow boughs they made traps for 
quail, and gathered the larger grass seeds for bait. 
They were constantly employed, and ten days slipped 
by before they were aware. Now and then clouds 
glided across the blue dome above, but the weather 
remained dry and tranquil, though noticeably colder. 
Daily Andy trapped game for food, for it was an 
easy matter to lure the quail and rabbits and grouse. 
They jerked rabbits over cedar-wood fires and hung 
them in the cave. Charmian had set her foot down 
on shooting deer, though Andy had a heavy-calibre 
rifle. They were so tame and inquisitive and confi¬ 
dent, with their big glistening eyes fixed upon the 
usurpers in friendly wonder, that to kill one of them 
seemed to her wantonly cruel. She turned her back 
when Andy took live quail and grouse from the traps 
and dispatched them. The rabbits, caught in dead¬ 
falls, died instantly under falling stones or logs. 

And so the short days passed until the sky was over¬ 
cast with mackerel clouds and the wind rustled the 
dead leaves of the deciduous trees and sent them 
scurrying through the air. Andy’s hair was growing 
long. They had missed a day or two, they thought, 
but they knew that Dr. Shonto should be nearing the 
valley on his return. All day long they kept their 
signal fire smouldering near the mouth of the Cave 
of Hypocritical Frogs, and from it a thin stream of 
smoke rose constantly. 

Then one morning Andy confessed to Charmian 


2io THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

that his stock of tablets was growing alarmingly low, 
and that for the past four days he had been splitting 
them and taking only half doses. 

That night the air over the valley was filled with a 
peculiar moan. All seemed quiet about them on the 
valley’s floor, but up above the moan continued, a 
weird, dismal battle anthem of the mountain winds. 
Next morning soft snowflakes were falling into the 
sink, while up above a great storm raged, and snow- 
dust blew from the tops of distant peaks in awe¬ 
inspiring banners half a mile in length. The war 
banners of the mountain winds, mobilizing for the 
grand charge and chanting triumphantly! 



CHAPTER XXII 


DR. SHONTO RIDES ALONE 

D OWN on the desert, a day’s journey in the sad¬ 
dle from Diamond H Ranch, where the pil¬ 
grims to the Valley of Arcana had left their 
cars, lived an old man named Gustav Tanburt. His 
rancho had its existence because of an oasis similar to 
the one at Diamond H, and he had prospered through¬ 
out the years that he had lived there as a desert rat. 

Through his broad acres passed a road extending 
at right angles to the road that entered the property of 
his distant neighbour. This last-mfentioned road—the 
one by which Charmian’s party had reached Diamond 
H Ranch—went no farther, and the trackless sweeps 
of the desert separated the two properties. But Tan- 
burt’s road was moderately well travelled. Freighters 
driving eight- and ten- and twelve-horse teams pursued 
it on their way to a distant mining community in the 
mountains. Gus Tanburt’s ranch was a station for 
them and all other travellers passing that way, and 
Gus took a heavy toll for meals and feed for stock 
and even water. In the mountains he had cheap pas¬ 
turage in the National Forest, for he was an old- 
timer in the Shinbone Country and had used the grass 
long before the passage of the act which placed the 

forest lands under government control. Hence he 

211 


212 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


had the preference, as is the government ruling, and 
he used it to force out all competing cattlemen in the 
district. 

The war, with the resultant high price of beef and 
hides, had made him. Ignorant, old, crabbed, alone, 
unliked by all who knew him, he was now worth nearly 
half a million dollars, which did him very little good. 
For he limped about with a cane and had not mounted 
a horse for several years. Wretched and old and 
worn to a wreck—and he longed for youth and some¬ 
thing to spend his money for, and a bud of a girl named 
Rosaline Dimmette, who lived with her parents on a 
forest homestead in the centre of his summer grazing 
lands. 

Until Gus knew the girl he had put forth every ef¬ 
fort to oust the homesteaders. But Dimmette was 
firmly ensconced and had the Agricultural Department 
back of him; he was obstinate and a fighter. Then 
one day Gus Tanburt rode up to make further snarling 
protest against Dimmette’s use of the water in a cer¬ 
tain stream, and for the first time he saw Rosaline— 
and wanted her. He decided then and there that the 
eighteen-year-old girl, fresh and feminine and ruddy as 
mountain mahogany, should be the price of the Dim- 
mettes’ remaining peacefully on their claim. But he 
knew that he was old and crippled and unacceptable 
as a husband, and daily growing more so. So the 
Dimmettes had remained, unhampered by warfare, 
while Gus Tanburt brooded over his lost youth and 
vigour and longed for Rosaline. 

Then for weeks the papers were full of articles 


DR. SHONTO RIDES ALONE 213 

about rejuvenation by the substitution of animal glands 
in the aged and unambitious. Gus scoffed at it at first, 
then believed and suffered with longing, then scoffed 
again. And one day to his rancho came two old ac¬ 
quaintances, Smith Morley and Omar Leach. 

Leach, Morley and his wife, after deserting Char- 
mian’s expedition on the desert, had ridden back to 
Diamond H and tried to get possession of at least one 
of the automobiles. One or both they meant to sell 
before the party could overtake them, and with the 
money flee to Australia, where they might have enough 
funds remaining to outfit themselves for an opal-pros¬ 
pecting trip into the sandy wastes. But Roger Fur¬ 
long, owner of Diamond H, knew Leach and Morley 
of old, and knew nothing good about them. He posi¬ 
tively refused to turn over to them the cars of Andy 
and Dr. Shonto, well knowing that the prospectors 
could not afford such cars. Furlong had recovered 
his horses and given the two men the boot, but prom¬ 
ised to board Mrs. Morley until such time as he found 
it convenient to take her to the main line of travel to 
the nearest city. Obliged to be content with this ar¬ 
rangement, Leach and Morley had set out afoot for 
Tanburt’s ranch. They would be more welcome there, 
for in the past they had turned several shady deals— 
mostly connected with salted mines and unbranded 
calves—which had helped to lay the groundwork for 
the fortune that old Gus possessed to-day. Yes, they 
might be given a grudging welcome at Tanburt Ranch 
while they were looking about for a way to get out 
of their present difficulties. And they reached old 


214 the valley of arcana 

Gus at a time when the newspapers, which he read 
with one thick, dirt-calloused finger pointing out the 
lines, were carrying columns about the rejuvenation of 
human glands. 

And Gus learned that one of the most famous gland 
specialists in the world was then on the desert, not 
many miles away. So with bleary eyes watering in 
eagerness and trembling hands, he offered to reward 
Leach and Morley handsomely to find Dr. Inman 
Shonto and bring him to Tanburt Ranch. 

“But how can we go about it?” Leach asked Morley 
when they were alone. “We can’t approach Doctor 
Shonto after ducking our nuts the way we did. Con¬ 
found that Shirttail Henry!” 

“There’s enough in it,” said Morley, “to make a 
trial worth while. We need the money, and it’s no 
time to let our pride stand in the way. Just sneak 
back and confess we’re crooked, and put it up to 
Shonto what Gus wants. Tell him there’ll be a big 
fee, and— Oh, we’ll get by some way! Sufficient to 
the day is the evil thereof. I can talk better on the 
spur of the moment than I can after a careful re¬ 
hearsal.” 

“Will Shonto come?” 

“That’s a question. He’s got piles of money. He’s 
stuck on Mrs. Reemy. Chances are he won’t.” 

Leach grew thoughtful. “D’ye suppose they’re still 
out there on the desert? What would they be doing, 
Smith? By now Shirttail Henry has spilled the beans 
about the opal claims. Chances are they’re on their 
way back to Diamond H right now to get their cars.” 


DR. SHONTO RIDES ALONE 


215 

“Doubt it. That girl was crazy to find the undis¬ 
covered valley, and if they pump Henry he’ll tell ’em 
which way to go to find it. She’s game, that kid—be 
just like her to strike out this late in the season to find 
it. And the two men would go with her—one to watch 
the other. They’re both in love.” 

“If that’s the case, it’ll be harder than ever to find 
’em. And harder than ever to get Shonto to come. 
But if we can find ’em, and can get Shonto off alone, 
there’s a way to get him.” 

“Of course,” Morley agreed pleasantly. “But it’ll 
cost Gus several times what he’s offered. And it might 
be possible to bring Doctor Shonto here by night, or 
blindfolded, and take him away the same, so he won’t 
know afterward where he was. That’ll clear Gus and 
us, too. And we can arrange to make a getaway by 
leaving Shonto somewhere on the desert without a 
horse, so we can ride off and be on our way to Frisco 
before he gets in touch with anybody.” 

“Of course,” said Leach. 

“Let’s put it up to Gus how difficult the job will be 
for us,” suggested Morley. “Confound him, he ought 
to pay us a thousand apiece and never miss it! And 
say—if we can get Shonto the way we said, we’ll get 
out of crawling back to those folks and making mon¬ 
keys out of ourselves. That’s the best way to pull 
it off, anyway—and there’ll be more in it. If we can 
only locate the party and get Shonto off b^ himself. 
How soon d’ye think they’ll be trailing back, Omar, 
provided they make a try at locating the undiscovered 
valley?” 


0 


216 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

“They won’t be giving up yet,” thought Leach. 
“But they will before long, I guess. Let’s see what 
Gus’ll do for us, then get a couple of horses and a 
couple of canaries and get back into that country. We 
can fool ’round and pretend to be prospecting close to 
the trail to Shirttail Bend. They’ll likely come out 
that way. We can plan the rest of it when we strike 
em. 

“Fine business! Let’s get to work on Gus and see 
how much we can separate him from.” 

The morning following this dialogue Leach and 
Morley set off over the desert toward the trail that led 
to Shirttail Bend, mounted and with two packed 
burros. 

They camped near the spring in the calico buttes, 
and every day they were out merely loafing about, but 
keeping in sight of the mouth of Henry’s trail. But 
many days had passed before they saw another human 
being; and they waylaid the first they saw coming 
down the trail—Shirttail Henry with Lot’s wife, on 
their way with sorrowful news for the Weather Bu¬ 
reau concerning the masticated rain gauge. 

From a distance Henry looked at them doubtfully 
and with long strides tried to evade them. But they 
closed in on him because of the reluctance of Mrs. 
Lot to make greater speed than that prescribed for 
general pack travel. Henry swung flutteringly about 
and grinned at the prospectors through his mat of 
ragged whiskers. 

“Now, looky-here, you fellas,” he threatened. 


DR. SHONTO RIDES ALONE 217 

“Come any o’ yer monkey-business on me and I’ll get 
a club, and I’ll take it and I’ll knock yer gysh-danged 
heads off! Heh-heh-heh!” 

This in the face of the fact that there was not a club 
within fifteen miles. 

“Close your trap!” growled Smith Morley. 
“Where’s the bunch?” 

“None o’ yer gysh-danged business!” was the re¬ 
tort. 

“Don’t rub his fur the wrong way,” came Leach’s 
whispered warning to his partner. “Get more out of 
him by kidding him along.” 

Morley tacked. “What’s the big idea of being so 
sore, Henry?” he asked cheerfully. 

“Why ain’t you boys gone from here?” 

“Well, we’re just still here—that’s all. Prospect¬ 
ing a little. Where you headed for, Henry?” 

“Say something about the weather,” whispered 
Leach. 

“How’s the weather up in the mountains, Henry?” 
Morley complied. “Looks a little like rain, don’t it?” 

Henry’s blue eyes brightened. “It sure does,” he 
agreed, casting an anxious look at the sky above the 
wooded ridges. “And here’s me without a rain gauge. 
Plumb ruint, boys. Roger’s bell burro she clean et 
her up. And here’s winter cornin’ on, and me without 
a gauge! I’m hikin’ to Diamond H to send a letter 
for another one. If I don’t get her before it storms 
I’m plumb ruint—heh-heh-heh!” 

His face was so forlorn and his deep-throated 


218 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


chuckle so indicative of secret mirth that the result 
was ludicrous. 

“When’d that happen, Henry?” Leach questioned, 
affecting interest and sympathy. 

“Little time back.” 

“Where? At Shirttail Bend?” 

“No, up above the lake. Furder ner that—up on 
th’ toes o’ Dewlap.” 

“What were you doing up there, Henry?” 

“I was showin’ ’em how to get to the Valley of 
Arcana, which is her new name,” Henry divulged. 
“And Roger Furlong’s bell burro she—” 

“That was sure tough luck, Henry. And did they 
get to the valley?” 

“I don’t know. I reckon not. I hadta leave ’em 
and send in for another rain gauge.” 

“You ditched them up in that God-forsaken coun¬ 
try—a bunch of greenhorns?” 

“What could I do?” pleaded Henry. “I’m a gov’- 
ment official, and—” 

“Are they up in there yet?” 

“I guess so. Ain’t seen hide ner hair of ’em since. 
Left th’ hosses at th’ lake, and we hoofed it with th’ 
asses. Then, side o’ Dewlap, we leaves th’ asses 
browsin’ off th’ bresh—” 

“Yes, yes!”—irritably from Morley. “And you’re 
sure they’ve not come out?” 

“How could they yet? I been hikin’ straight sence 
I left ’em, ’ceptin’ to ketch up Mrs. Lot.” 

“Well, well, well, Henry! Tough luck about your 
gauge. Don’t let us keep you.” 


DR. SHONTO RIDES ALONE 219 

“Tough luck,you bet!” Henry agreed. “Heh-heh- 
heh!” 

He slithered to Lot’s Wife, who had wandered 
from the straight and narrow in search of dry bunch- 
grass, and shooed her into the trail again. 

“What’ll we do now?” asked Leach. “Go up after 
’em or wait here?” 

“They’ll be coming out soon, with Henry gone,” 
said Morley. “Bet the old coot ditched ’em in the 
night. If that’s so, they’ll give up in a day or two. 
Le’s wait for ’em here.” 

They continued to wait for days and days, anx¬ 
ious, afraid that the party had perished in the wilder¬ 
ness, afraid that Henry had lied to them. Henry had 
not returned; they supposed he was waiting at Dia¬ 
mond H for the arrival of his new rain gauge, and 
they knew that mail came to the desert ranch infre¬ 
quently and at irregular intervals. Morley left Leach 
on guard and rode back to Tanburt for fresh supplies. 
He returned, and they continued their patient vigil. 

Then one afternoon at three o’clock Dr. Inman 
Shonto came riding down the trail, alone. They flat¬ 
tened themselves on the ground behind sagebrush and 
elbowed each other in the ribs in silent satisfaction. 
Shonto must needs camp at the desert spring that 
night. 

When horse and rider were a mere speck in the hazy 
distance the prospectors hurried to a draw in which 
their saddle animals were picketed and raced in a great 
circle toward the buttes. They rounded the buttes 
and entered them from the opposite side. They gal- 


220 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


loped to the spring, collected their belongings, and 
erased all evidences of a recent camp. They watered 
their sweating horses and rode out on the desert again, 
found their pack animals and picketed them, then made 
a dry camp to await the coming of night. 


CHAPTER XXIII 

OLD ACQUAINTANCES 


I T was one of those Augean tasks that at least once 
in a lifetime confront all earth-dwellers. But 
Mary Temple of the lustreless eye and the wispy 
hair was game to the very core. Dr. Shonto never 
knew how she suffered from that broken rib through¬ 
out the weary days of climbing and sliding back to the 
haunts of men. Most women suffer silently, and in 
some ways Mary Temple was a super-woman. She 
knew, and Dr. Shonto knew, that the broken rib could 
not mend under the strain that was put upon it. It 
was an ordeal of pain and torment which must be 
undergone, and Mary underwent it, acidulously cheer¬ 
ful, barkingly good-natured, a crusty good fellow from 
the bitter beginning to the bitter end. “Let the old 
thing hurt,” she said. “What’s the difference? You 
get used to pain in time. Our lives are all pain, but 
we don’t know it. We’re used to it. When we get to 
heaven we’ll wonder how we ever stood it here on 
earth, we were so miserable and didn’t know it.” 

This odd philosophy carried her through trium¬ 
phantly to the lake, where they found the burros and 
horses still content with their mountain pasture. 

To ride, she discovered, was more painful than to 
walk. So she dragged herself on down to Mosquito 

and scolded the doctor every step of the way because 

221 


t 


222 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

he insisted on walking with her and leading the saddle 
horse on which he was to ride for help. At Mosquito, 
after the terrific strain of days of struggling over the 
rugged ridges, she collapsed and was put to bed, 
greatly to her disgust. “I’m a regular zingwham,” 
she sighingly announced. And questioned: “A zing¬ 
wham is a fat girl thirteen years old that bawls when 
the boys call her ‘Pianolegs.’ ” And Shonto, days be¬ 
hind because of the slow progress made, hurried his 
horse on to Shirttail Bend, to find the chaotic ranch 
deserted by its owner. 

• ••••• • 

Inman Shonto himself was about all in. As medical 
adviser to as obstinate a patient as any he had dealt 
with, he had not permitted Mary to carry a pound. 
(The ensuing argument over this, from the dismal 
canon to Mosquito, had helped in his unstringing.) 
Rations had been short beyond the cache, and at that 
he had packed a torturing load. His back and shoul¬ 
ders ached; every muscle in his big body ached. His 
brain was leaden. The figure that camped for the 
night at the spring in the desert buttes did not closely 
resemble the fastidious Dr. Inman Shonto, unre¬ 
sponsive but idolized lady’s man, renowned gland spe¬ 
cialist, popular clubman of the City of Los Angeles. 

It was with little zest that he collected petrified 
yucca for his campfire, fed rolled barley to his horse, 
and picketed him. Squatting over the coals, he fried 
bacon and made “cowboy’s bread” in the grease. A 
cup of strong black coffee finished his meal. Not ten 
minutes afterward he was rolled in his blankets. 


OLD ACQUAINTANCES 223 

For a little his dull senses were aware of the 
close-by maudlin laughter of a pair of coyotes up in 
the buttes; then the sounds blended with his dreams 
and he was fast asleep. 

He awoke with a start, shook his head, sat up 
straight. He was vaguely aware that he was not alone. 
The fire had died down and only the light of the stars 
served to reveal several indistinct bulks blacker than 
the general blackness of the night. He made an at¬ 
tempt to spring to his feet, but found his legs unre¬ 
sponsive and toppled over on one elbow. 

A chuckle offered him derisive applause. “They’re 
tied together, Doctor,” said a faintly familiar voice. 
“I just rolled the blankets off your feet and tied your 
ankles, and you didn’t move a muscle.” 

“Morley, eh?” said the doctor calmly. “Well, Mor- 
ley, what’s it all about? Sore about something—you 
and your partner?” 

“Not at all,” Morley replied. Then to Leach: 
“Stir up the fire and let’s have a cup of coffee before 
we start.” 

Another dark bulk moved from the collection of 
shadows, and now Shonto realized that horses and 
burros comprised the greater part of the group. The 
fire blazed up after a little, and objects became more 
distinct. 

Smith Morley squatted on his heels. 

“I’ll tell you, Doc,” he said. “Leach and I are up 
against it. We’re flat broke and miles from our head¬ 
quarters. In you we’ve found an opportunity to get 
out of our difficulties. So you’re the goat.” 


224 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

“Well, let’s have it. Am I to be shot at sunrise or 
as soon as we’ve had the coffee?” 

Morley chuckled. “I admire your nerve, Doc. 
You’re pretty much of a man, all in all. But if you’re 
worrying any at all, which I doubt, I’ll relieve your 
mind at once. Nothing serious is going to happen to 
you. We just want you to go with us and perform 
one of your famous operations on an old desert rat 
that wants pepping up a little so he can take unto 
himself a girl wife. There f s a big fee in it for you 
and a nice little sum for Leach and me to get out of 
the country on.” 

“Oh, a friend of yours?” 

“Well, ‘friend’ is a pretty comprehensive word, 
Doc. Anyway, we’ve known him a good many years.” 

“Well,” said Shonto, after a brooding pause, “I’m 
sorry, but I haven’t time to perform any operation 
just now. I’m about the busiest man in the Shinbone 
Country, I imagine, so you’ll have to excuse me. Later, 
perhaps.” 

“Just as sorry as you are, Doc, but that’s not the 
way it’s scheduled to come out. Leach and I might 
have put the matter up to you in an ordinary way if 
we hadn’t seen you riding down the trail alone to-day. 
We realize that the rest of your party must be in 
trouble somewhere up there in the mountains, and that 
you’re probably going for help. So we decided you 
wouldn’t listen to reason—and tied your ankles. Sorry 
to disappoint your friends, but you’re going with us.” 

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” was Shonto’s brief 
reply. 


OLD ACQUAINTANCES 225 

“No, not in the least, Doctor Shonto. You’re up 
against a stacked deck. We’ve got your gun, of 
course, and, though I suspect that you’re a pretty 
tough hombre in a hand-to-hand mix-up, you can’t do 
much with your ankles tied together. So just be rea¬ 
sonable and make the best of it, and you’ll be free the 
sooner.” 

“Humph!” 

Dr. Shonto sat upright, thinking. Morley smiled 
as he noted the feet constantly twitching and straining 
under the drab blankets. 

“I’ll tell you,” said Shonto presently. “Things are 
in a pretty serious state up in the mountains. A man’s 
future, if not his life, depends on my getting back to 
him in time. I’ll compromise with you: I’ll give you 
my word of honour that, if you’ll let me go and attend 
to what I have in mind, I’ll come back and perform 
whatever operation your man wants, charge him noth¬ 
ing, and forget the entire matter.” 

“Sounds good,” Morley replied. “And I don’t want 
you to think for a minute that we doubt your word, 
Doctor. But we’re in a desperate hurry. My wife 
is in hock, you might say, at Diamond H Ranch. 
Leach and I are stripped. The season’s late for pros¬ 
pectors, and we’ve got to get on our feet at once. 
We’re going to Australia on the money we get out of 
this, and it’s a long trip. Delays are dangerous. 
No, you’ll have to go with us to-night and get it over 
with. It won’t take long, I guess. You’ll be on your 
way again in no time.” 

“I’ll add as much as you’re to get from your client 


226 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

for this kidnapping,” offered Shonto, “if you’ll post¬ 
pone it.” 

“That’s tempting,” admitted Morley, “but this is 
one of those times when a bird in the hand is worth 
two in the bush. No, it’ll be weeks, maybe, before 
you’re ready. Leach and I can’t hold out that long. 
As it is, we’ll be on the briny days before you’d be 
ready. No, Doc, to-night’s the night.” 

“I haven’t an instrument with which to perform any 
sort of operation,” Shonto protested. “You don’t 
seem to realize that an operation of any sort whatever 
is a delicate piece of business. I need a nurse, a table, 
anaesthetics, the equipment that a first-class hospital 
provides—you don’t know anything at all about it.” 

Leach spoke up from the fireside: “This old bird 
is tough, Doc. All you’ll have to do is scrape off the 
dirt and cut into ’im. Several steers have operated on 
him already, and bad horses have broken half a dozen 
bones for him. He can do without the fixings, I 
guess.” 

“Well, some things are absolutely necessary,” said # 
Shonto. “You’ll admit that. And I can’t see—” 

“Just leave all that to us, Doc,” Morley put in. 
“We’ll take you to him, then you can give us a message 
to wire to Los Angeles, or wherever your headquar¬ 
ters are located, and I’ll send it in. Have all you’ll 
need in a couple of days, at most.” 

Leach approached with two cups of half-cooked 
coffee. 

“Better swallow a cup, Doc,” he suggested. “Brace 
you up for a long night’s ride.” 


OLD ACQUAINTANCES 227 

Five minutes later, quite unexpectedly, Leach, who 
had passed behind Dr. Shonto, dropped the noose of 
a lariat over his head, binding his arms to his sides. 
The prospector took several turns about his body and 
made a knot. Then the two unbound the doctor’s 
ankles and helped him to his feet. 

Whereupon the struggle began. 

Shonto was a powerful man and a determined man. 
He had small hopes of winning, but there was always a 
chance and he made the most of his strength. Unable 
to use his hands, nevertheless he whipped about, butted 
with his head, tripped with his feet, turned and 
squirmed, and hurled himself into the kidnappers until 
the three were about the busiest men in several coun¬ 
ties. 

But the outcome was inevitable. The lariat did not 
loosen, and Shonto’s huge hands did not come into 
play. Time and again they bore him to the ground, 
and, eventually, by reason of one of them having 
rested while the other engaged the rebellious prisoner, 
they wore the doctor down. Utterly exhausted, he re¬ 
mained passive while they lifted him to the back of his 
own horse and confined his ankles again by passing a 
rope from one to the other under the animal’s belly. 
Then they mounted, urged the burros forward, and, 
with Morley leading the doctor’s horse and Leach rid¬ 
ing behind to see that nothing happened, they struck 
off down the line of buttes. Out on the open desert, 
they headed into the southwest in the direction of 
Tanburt’s Ranch. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


MARY CHOOSES A SEAT 

D R. INMAN SHONTO was a prisoner in a little 
adobe hut back of the corrals at Tanburt’s 
Ranch. The dun walls were a foot in thickness, 
the door of solid slabs of oak securely bolted, and the 
lone window was less than ten inches square. This hut 
had once been used as a place to keep milk and butter 
cool, and in that day was adjacent to the first house 
that Gus Tanburt had built on his property. The old 
house had been wrecked in time and a new one built, 
but the old adobe buttery had withstood the years. 

There was no escape; the thick walls and tiny window 
made imprisonment therein effectual. Shonto paced 
the floor, smoked his pipe and cigarettes, and tried to 
hold his temper. He had written the message, and 
either Leach or Morley had gone with it to the nearest 
telegraph station. A day and a night had passed, and 
Shonto had seen nobody but a halfbreed cowpuncher, 
who brought his meals regularly and thrust them in 
through the ten-inch opening. He had blankets and 
a couch, and was fairly comfortable. But, with the 
exception of the halfbreed, no one paid any attention 
to him. 

He smiled bitterly as he paced about, strong hands 

clasped behind his back. Up in the mountains a young 

228 


MARY CHOOSES A SEAT 


229 

man soon would be facing a grinning spectre that 
threatened to ruin his life, and the girl who loved him 
would be looking on in horror, unable to save him, 
forced to witness the ghastly thing that was taking 
place before her eyes. Close at hand an ignorant old 
man waited for the doctor to perform a trifling opera¬ 
tion that promised renewed vigor and the semblance 
of youth, which would place at the mercy of his selfish 
desire a ripe girl-woman, pulsing with the warm spring¬ 
time of maturity. 

He had not yet set eyes on this old gargoyle of a 
man, but he pictured him uncouth, cunning, repulsive, 
terrifying, as he gloated over his defenceless and 
shrinking prey. What right had this old monster to 
demand of life the replenished fires of youth which 
he had quenched in the soul-warping fight for wealth? 
Was it consistent with progress that this old man, be¬ 
cause he had the means, should be allowed to regain 
his physical vigour, and perhaps perpetuate his kind in 
a world already hampered with such as he? Sheep 
glands substituted for his own worthless organs would 
not serve to purge his corroded soul nor wipe from his 
fading mind the cobwebs of superstition and ignorance 
and prejudice that put him out of step in the march 
of progress. Such as he should be left to die and be 
forgotten; it seemed a crime to help him to perpetuate 
himself, and bring into the world stupid offspring handi¬ 
capped by heredity from the very start! No, the 
hope of progress lay in new blood. Let the old genera¬ 
tion, with its ignorance and its out-of-tune ideas, become 
extinct. Let science better the youth of the age, if 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


230 

possible, but refrain from prolonging the life of that 
arch enemy of Youth and Advancement—Old Age! 

The scientist was not only a strong advocate of 
birth control, but at times he went even further and 
longed to see the race die out entirely. This, of course, 
in his bitterest moments, when he realized what a 
fiasco man had made of life. War and slavery; disease 
and pestilence; poverty and greed; the stupidity of 
Labour and the tryanny of Capital; the arrogance of 
the Church and the cowardice of thinkers; Science de¬ 
voted to the problem of disassociating atoms one from 
another so that the world need not search for new oil 
and coal fields, but neglecting to discover cures for 
pyorrhea and catarrh; people suffering for the want of 
food and clothes in a world filled to overflowing with 
the necessities of life; the timber on a million hills laid 
low and wasted in a few short years, and families with¬ 
out shelter for their heads!—why prolong this hideous 
nightmare of confusion? Let the race die out; let the 
old world groan once more in the travail of a new up¬ 
heaval; and when it cooled, let protoplastic man be 
born again in the slime and begin all over from the 
bottom! 

Then thought of his lifelong work with the glands 
would soothe him, and his kindly eyes would smile. 
He never could untwist the brains of the generation 
with his efforts, he knew, but he could lay a foundation 
for his successors to build upon. 

So Dr. Inman Shonto was a great mind. A pessimist 
to the core, as are most thinkers who search for the 
eternal truths, he nevertheless worked for the better- 


MARY CHOOSES A SEAT 


231 

ment of what he considered hopeless conditions, and 
wooed optimism while he worked. 

Well, he would perform the operation. The deck 
was stacked against him. In order to save Youth this 
time he needs must bow to the whims of cantankerous 
Old Age. But he would make an effort to save that 
girl, whoever she might be, from the consequences of 
this iniquitous passion. He would take her away from 
her poverty to the city and give her a chance in life— 
he would take her to Charmian and place her under that 
influence. He would rob this twitching old David of 
the ewe lamb that he lusted for! 

He had reached the ranch blindfolded. Morley had 
told him of the rancher’s cravings, but he had not 
divulged his name. When the operation was over 
and his services no longer needed, he would be taken 
out on the desert, blindfolded again, and left to find 
his own way to the nearest habitation. Leach and Mor¬ 
ley would direct him, they promised, but would ride 
away and leave him for their own protection. Well, 
never mind! (Still pacing back and forth, back and 
forth.) He would get to the bottom of this thing. 
He would save that girl! 

* 1 • • • • • • 

Two days more had passed. Through the little 
window Dr. Inman Shonto saw that the desert was 
overhung with clouds. Up over the mountains they 
were voluminous and black. He believed that it was 
snowing up there. Every day, perhaps, the mantle of 
white was being spread deeper and deeper over the 
land. The stretch of chaparral between Dewlap Moun- 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


232 

tain and the Valley of Arcana would become impassa¬ 
ble. One could not crawl under the branches with the 
ground covered with snow; and until the snow had 
reached a depth of twelve feet one could not snow- 
shoe over the tops. Still no sign of the man who had 
gone to send the telegram. 

• • • • • • • 

Midnight, with Shirttail Henry wrapped in his 
blankets beside the spring in the calico buttes, and Lot's 
Wife dozing in the background. Lot’s Wife snorted 
and scrambled to her feet. Shirttail Henry stirred, 
blinked his mild blue eyes, and sat erect. He felt be¬ 
side him, assured himself that the new rain gauge was 
safe, and spoke thus to Mrs. Lot: 

“Quit snorin’, ass, and go to sleep!” 

But as he finished the words he heard the thumping 
of a horse’s feet. 

Instantly he flung himself from his blankets and 
stood in a listening attitude. The burro’s twelve-inch 
ears were nearly touching at the tips and her mouse- 
skin muzzle quivered. Her ears pointed the direction 
from which the horse was approaching. 

“Cornin’ from th’ mountains,” mumbled Henry. 
“Funny time o’ night to be hittin’ th’ trail. One 
critter.” 

He stepped lightly to the rocks about the spring and 
flattened himself in the shadows. The thudding con¬ 
tinued, and presently, though he could see nothing be¬ 
cause of the blackness cast by a cloudy sky, he knew 
that the animal was close. A single eye of light peered 
out from the nest of ashes of his waning fire, enough 


MARY CHOOSES A SEAT 233 

to convince the newcomer, if the horse bore a rider, 
that some one was camping at the spring. The horse 
did bear a rider, for no horse, even though he was an 
exceptional horse and gifted with speech, would have 
been so peremptory in his demand: 

“I want to know who’s camping here. Speak out! 
Who’s here?” 

“It’s me,” came Henry’s voice from the shadows. 

“Oh, old Marblehead, eh? Are you dressed?” 

“Yes’m.” 

“Then step out here, please, and tell me what’s be¬ 
come of Doctor Shonto!” 

“You’re Miss Mary Temple, ain’t you?” 

“No, I’m Miss William Jennings Bryan. Come on 
out! What’re you hiding there for? Where’s Doctor 
Shonto? I want to know at once. Talk, you damned 
quitter!” 

Henry came forth and stared at the black bulk that 
she made in the night. Never before had the mild 
Henry heard a woman use profanity. He was com¬ 
pletely flabbergasted. 

“I—I didn’t know ye cussed, ma’am,” he found him¬ 
self saying. 

“What you don’t know about me,” snapped Mary, 
“would give you a college education if you could find 
it out. I curse when I’m mad, like anybody else does 
who’s got any gumption. I’m a bad woman, Henry 
Richkirk—and don’t you forget it!” 

“I’m plumb s’prised, ma’am,” he puzzled. “You 
don’t cuss when Mis’ Reemy’s about, do ye?” 

“I don’t,” barked Mary. “But that’s no sign I 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


234 

can’t. And when I swear I’m mad. Now poke 
up that fire and tell me what’s become of Doctor 
Shonto!” 

“I ain’t seen ’im at all, ma’am,” said Henry, stirring 
the embers and heaping on kindling and stony yucca. 

“Don’t lie to me!” 

“Honest!” 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I been to town to git me a new rain gauge, ma’am. 
It didn’t come right soon, and I—I waited.” 

“What town?” 

“To Emerald, ma’am—that’s sixty miles from 
Diamond H. And I had to camp here to-night ’cause 
I was all wore out. I got drunk at Emerald, ma’am, 
and I’m plumb tuckered. But I oughta be in the moun¬ 
tains. Is it rainin’ or snowin’ up there?” 

“It is. Above Mosquito.” Mary was dismounting 
stiffly. “And Doctor Shonto was due to pass Mos¬ 
quito two days ago. I ought to be in bed, but I rode 
out to see what had happened to him. I couldn’t find 
anybody at your place when I got there at dusk, so 
I rode on down. Now I want to know what’s become 
of Doctor Shonto.” 

“I can’t tell ye, ma’am—honest! But I see Omar 
Leach and Smith Morley dost to th’ foot o’ th’ trail 
when I was ridin’ outa these here mountains here on 
my way to Diamond H.” 

“Leach and Morley? What were they doing? 
What did they want?” 

“They were askin’ about you folks,” Henry told 
her. “I don’t know what they want.” 


MARY CHOOSES A SEAT 235 

“I know what they want! They want money! Why 
aren’t they out of this country?” 

“I can’t tell ye, ma’am. They ain’t been to Dia¬ 
mond H sence they went back there after they ditched 
you folks. They left Smith’s woman there, but before 
I got in she’d went out with Roger Furlong in his 
buckboard to the railroad. Smith and Omar they’d 
gone to Gus Tanburt’s, Roger said. They’re friends 
o’ Gus’s.” 

“Who’s Gus Tanburt?” 

Henry told her, adding: “That’s th’ only place they 
could go to, ma’am. Maybe they thought Gus would 
get ’em outa th’ Shinbone Country. But, then, I see 
’em at th’ foot o’ th’ trail to Shirttail Bend, like I told 
ye. And, ma’am, they was somethin’ here in camp here 
that I noticed when me and Mrs. Lot rambled in this 
evenin’. Ground all tromped, like they’d been a mix- 
up.” 

“And you’re positive that Doctor Shonto never got 
to Diamond H Ranch?” 

“Just so—sure, ma’am.” 

“All right. Get me something to eat, please. My 
grub’s back of my saddle. Make me a little tea. I’m 
sick, Henry. I’ve got a broken rib, and riding is 
killing me. But we’ll eat and get on to this Tanburt 
Ranch. How far is it?” 

“Why, ma’am, it’s miles and miles! And ye don’t 
know th’ way.” 

“You do, though. I want to know what’s happened 
to Doctor Shonto, and you’ve got to go along and help 
me find out.” 


2 3 6 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

“But, ma’am, I jest can’t. It’ll be rainin’ in th’ 
mountains in less’n twelve hours. You know I’m a 
gov’ment official, and—” 

“Oh, well—forget it!” exploded Mary. “Make me 
some tea and I’ll ride on alone if you can show me the 
way.” 

“But, ma’am—” 

“Make me some tea, I said—damn it all!” 

While he bustled about, hopeful of ridding him¬ 
self of her after attending to her temporary wants, 
she watered and fed her horse rolled barley, then 
threw off the saddle, examined the animal’s back with 
an expert eye, and put it on the picket rope. Presently 
she came and sat down on the ground by the fire, cupped 
her bony chin in one lean hand, and gazed eaglelike into 
the flames. 

“Henry,” she said, “guess what I’m sitting on.” 

Henry wheeled and stared at her in blank amaze¬ 
ment. He looked all around her, then advanced the 
theory that she was sitting on the ground. 

“Wrong, Henry,” said Mary gloomily. “I’m sitting 
on your new rain gauge. But don’t be alarmed. I’m 
keeping my weight off it. I won’t sit down hard, 
Henry, unless you persist in refusing to accompany 
me to Tanburt’s Ranch to get on the trail of Doctor 
Shonto. What do you say, Henry?” 

Henry had nothing to say, so he looked worried 
and cackled his silly “Heh-heh-heh!” At half-past 
one he was stalking into the night in a southwesterly 
direction, with Mary Temple riding behind him, tor¬ 
tured by the rolling motion of her walking horse, but 


MART CHOOSES A SEAT 


237 


enduring silently. The rain gauge was strapped at the 
front jockey of her saddle, its thin brass ready to be 
squeezed to uselessness if Shirttail Henry became ob¬ 
stinate. 


CHAPTER XXV 

THE DEADLY BULL AND THE SILVER FOX 

I T was nearly noon the following day when a lone 
horsewoman rode into the grove of cottonwoods 
that stood before the ranch house of Gustav Tan- 
hurt. No one came out to meet her. A few chickens 
moseyed about, commanded by a black rooster with a 
red muffler about his neck and a redder comb, deeply 
notched. He gave Mary Temple a wall-eyed stare. 
A young calf, tied to a tree on thirty feet of rope, 
took the occasion to celebrate Mary’s advent by racing 
round in a circle, carrying its tail as if it were broken 
in the middle, and ending the performance by en¬ 
circling several trees with the rope and coming to an 
enforced, bawling standstill. 

Mary dismounted in a spasm of suffering, watered 
her horse at a dripping trough adjacent to a flow of 
artesian water from a rusty pipe, lowered the reins 
over the horse’s head, and walked to the painfully 
small and circumspect veranda. She knocked smartly 
on a weather-stained door, in which a brown-china 
knob hung like a loose tooth. Gus Tanburt, for all the 
riches that had been forced upon him, clave to the 
familiar relics of his days of haphazard struggling. 

Mary knocked twice. A large black-green blow fly 
buzzed about before her peaked nose, seeming to antici¬ 
pate the opening of the door. Mary struck at it 

238 


DEADLY BULL AND SILVER FOX 239 

viciously, not with the flat of her hand but with her 
bony fist. Mary was in no humour to administer 
punishment with the flat of her hand. She was in 
the mood to deliver a haymaker and put her scant 
weight behind it. 

Shuffling footsteps preceded the opening of the door, 
and Gus Tanburt bleared at her from between wind- 
stung eyelids. 

The eyelids had no lashes, and the skin of the 
rancher’s face was slick and shiny as an ancient scar. 
His teeth were few and far between—yellow fangs in 
his yielding gums. The breath of his brown clay pipe 
nearly asphyxiated his gentle caller. 

He glowered at Mary as if she were the tax assessor. 

“Where’d you come from?” was his inhospitable 
greeting. 

“I’m riding to Britton,” answered Mary. (Shirt- 
tail Henry had coached her.) “I wanted to know if 
I couldn’t buy something to eat and a feed for my 
horse.” 

“Who are ye?” 

“My name is Winifred Allison.” (Mary always 
wished she had been born Winifred Allison. Most 
of us have pet names that we wish our parents had had 
the sense to bestow on us. Winifred Allison was 
Mary’s.) 

“Where ye from?” 

“Fresno.” 

“I mean jest now.” 

“Oh! I’ve been riding through the mountains from 
Glenning.” 


240 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

“Glennin’! That’s a hundred an’ fifty miles t’other 
side o’ th’ range, woman!” 

“I’m not disputing that, man!” Mary snapped back. 
“I’m telling you that I rode from Glenning here, on my 
way to Britton. What’s the odds? Can you sell me 
some dinner and a feed of hay for the horse?” 

Gus Tanburt looked over her ridgy shoulder and 
squinted at her horse. For a few moments Mary 
scarcely breathed. But the watery eyes coasted back 
to her again, and she knew that the rancher had not 
recognized the animal as belonging to Diamond H. 

“I got nothin’ fitten to eat,” he told her. “I’m a 
sick man, an’ I’m alone and don’t wanta be pestered. 
Ye c’n put th’ brute in th’ corral and pitch ’im a couple 
forkfuls o’ hay, if ye want to. That’ll be fifty cents. 
Then if ye c’n find anything to eat in th’ kitchen ye’re 
welcome to he’p yerself. That’ll be a dollar. Waterin’ 
th’ brute is fifty cents, a’g’in. Two dollars in all. 
Strike ye right?” 

“Oh, yes,” muttered Mary. “Quite reasonable— 
especially the water, which is going to waste a bar¬ 
relful every five minutes.” 

“Well, this here’s a desert country, ma’am, an’ us 
folks that put up with stayin’ ’way out here gotta make 
a livin’. Ye c’n take it or leave it. Funny, though, 
a woman like you all alone forkin’ a hoss from Glennin’ 
to Britton. If it’s any o’ my business—” 

“It isn’t,” Mary broke in. “Where shall I put my 
horse?” 

He shuffled out and to the corner of the house, where 
he pointed a crooked finger toward one of the large 


DEADLY BULL AND SILVER FOX 241 

stables, about which was a tumble-down board corral. 

“Put ’im in that corral,” he said. “That’s th’ hoss 
corral. Keep away from t’other’n, though. It runs 
’way back in th’ cottonwoods, to where ye can’t see, 
an’ I got a bad bull in there. He killed a cholo last 
summer.” 

“All right,” said Mary. “I’ll not go near him.” 

She went to her horse, and, afraid to mount because 
she would display her awkwardness and probably be 
forced to explain about the broken rib, led the animal 
past the rancher toward the corral he had indicated. 
He stood at the corner of the house and watched her 
until she had taken down the bars and turned in the 
horse; but Mary had detected no suspicion in his eyes 
as they roved appraisingly over the animal, as a horse¬ 
man’s eyes invariably will do. She had walked abreast 
the horse’s shoulder to hide the Diamond H brand. 
He watched her while she took off the saddle and bridle. 
But he had disappeared before she came from the stable 
with the second allotted forkful of fragrant alfalfa 
hay. 

Mary carried this forkful to the corner of the stable 
farthest from the ranch house, as she had the first. 
Casting a quick glance over her shoulder, she stepped 
past the head of her eagerly eating horse and was 
hidden from the house by the stable. She whipped 
off her hat and waved furiously to Shirttail Henry, 
hidden somewhere in that part of the cottonwood grove 
inhabited by the man-killer bull. This bull, Mary be¬ 
lieved, was a myth; for she and Henry had approached 
the ranch buildings so that this neck of the grove 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


242 

would screen them from the inhabitants. Henry had 
slunk through the grove on reaching it, and she had 
ridden by to come out on the road that passed through 
the ranch. She had seen Henry’s broad, bewhiskered 
face peering out at her from a portion of the grove not 
far from the stables where she had later found hay for 
her horse. This meant that Henry had walked the 
length of the grove parallel with her course along the 
road, and he had not looked as if he had seen anything 
of the alleged destroyer. 

When she began waving Shirttail Henry at once 
stepped from behind the bole of a large cottonwood 
and returned the signal. Hastily she scribbled a mes¬ 
sage on a piece of paper and, holding it up for her aide 
to see, slipped it under a batten on the side of the stable. 
Henry waved his understanding of the pantomime, 
and Mary hurried back in sight of the ranch house 
and started walking toward it. 

She had written: 

This old rooster is a crook. He says there is a 
fierce bull in the grove where you are. He lies. He 
wanted to keep me away from the other corral and the 
buildings near it. I’ll keep him busy in the house, 
while you look into all the buildings and see what you 
can find out. That bull story convinces me that there’s 
something wrong. Don’t be a blundering idiot, now, 
and make a splatchet of everything. 

Five minutes after reading the note Shirttail Henry 
was clinging with his knees to a rail which he had 


DEADLY BULL AND SILVER FOX 243 

leaned against the adobe wall under the ten-inch window 
of Dr. Shonto’s prison. 

Mary Temple contrived to spend an hour and a half 
in the ranch house. She fried fresh eggs for herself 
and made baking-powder biscuits and a cup of tea. 
Gus Tanburt sat in a decrepit kitchen chair and talked 
with her while she worked, questioning her about any¬ 
thing and everything of which she knew nothing at all. 
But Mary’s was an inventive mind, and she told him 
about the new schoolhouse at Glenning and spoke feel¬ 
ingly of the last rites solemnized over the mortal re¬ 
mains of one Dan Stebbins, shoemaker, as mythical as 
Tanburt’s bull. Didn’t he know Dan? That was 
strange. But, then, of course he didn’t know a great 
deal about Glenning. Maybe he knew the Morgan 
girls? No? Mabel had married the young Baptist 
minister who had recently come from Ohio; and Ethel 
Morgan was—well, perhaps the least said about Ethel 
the better. She had bobbed her hair, though, and he 
could draw his own conclusions. 

When the ordeal was over Mary laid a couple of 
dollars on a place in the oilcloth-covered table where 
the oilcloth had not worn off, and thanked the old 
profiteer in her sweetest manner. Tanburt did not 
know that Mary’s sweetness was inevitably a danger 
signal, so, refreshed with much fictitious news, he ac¬ 
companied her to the door in a more agreeable frame 
of mind and invited her to drop in again if she ever 
rode through in the future. But he was too miserable 
to saddle her horse for her, and bade her good-by on 
the porch. 


244 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

Tucked under the same batten on the east side of the 
stable Mary read, on the reverse side of her note : 

Doctor is in that little dobe the othir side off the 
coral. Met me a mile down the rode to the west of 
tanberts. I left this note before I left. 

“There,” murmured Mary, “is what you call Ameri¬ 
can efficiency, which I always suspected was pretty much 
hot air. He left the note before he left. Henry! 
Henry! if all of our government officials were like you!” 
• • • *• • 

The short winter day was drawing to its close. The 
sun was sinking slowly behind the Coast Range, having 
dropped suddenly from under a rack of clouds for its 
first smile of the day before seeking its bed in the 
mystic west. 

Then two horsemen galloped easily from a short 
pass through a chain of half-hearted buttes that barely 
broke the monotony of the level desert on the road 
from Tanburt Ranch to Britton. The first horse 
shied and snorted, almost unseating its rider. The 
second, frightened by the action of the first, reared on 
its hind legs and wheeled. 

An apparition suddenly had confronted the little 
party. Mary Temple, gaunt and severe of mien, had 
appeared uncannily in the middle of the road, with a 
leveled Winchester at her shoulder. 

“Up!” she commanded acidly, as the horses came to 
a dancing halt. “Quick! Climb the ladder, both of 
you! Don’t make a mistake. I’ve killed my man.” 


DEADLY BULL AND SILVER FOX 245 

Then the hammer clicked icily as she cocked it in the 
desert stillness. 

That was the master stroke of the whole performance 
■—that ominous click that followed her unimpassioned 
command. It was psychological. Leach and Morley 
thrust their hands above their heads and grinned un¬ 
comfortably. 

“Henry! Morley has a six-gun on his hip. Get it. 
Morley, let him get it. I’m telling you the God’s 
truth when I say I’ll pull the trigger if you move a 
hand. Damn you, anyway—I’d as soon take a crack 
at you as break an egg!” 

“Wh-why, Miss Temple!” gasped Smith Morley. 

“Shocked, eh? Well, if you’d seen me when I ran 
the Silver Fox Dance Hall in Alaska, ten or eleven 
years ago, you’d know who you’re dealing with. Bu£ r 
if you want to take a chance—Henry!” 

“Yes’m—here I am.” 

Henry quivered from behind the large greasewood 
bush that had concealed him, and, grinning apologeti¬ 
cally, stepped to the side of Morley’s horse and re¬ 
moved a wooden-handled .45 from its holster. 

He heaved a sigh of relief as he backed away. 

“Now,” he said, “try to come any o’ yer capers on 
me, Smith and Omar, an’ I’ll get me a club—” 

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Mary cut in crisply. 
“Why not blow their heads off with their own gat?” 

“Heh-heh-heh!” chuckled Henry. 

“Hit the ground,” Mary commanded. “Keep your 
hands up and turn your backs to me.” 

Leach obeyed instantly, but a look of disdain had 


246 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

come upon Morley’s features as, the first shock over, 
his courage began welling up again. 

“You wouldn’t shoot—” 

The remainder of his sentence was drowned by the 
roar of the Winchester, and the prospector felt the 
wind of the bullet as it crashed past his cheek. There 
followed the instant clacking of the mechanism as 
Mary pumped another cartridge into the chamber. 
The horses lunged and danced. 

“You were saying, Mr. Morley?” Mary prompted 
sweetly. 

But Morley was sliding from his plunging horse to 
the ground, where he carried out to the letter the 
commands of the erstwhile mistress of the Silver 
Fox. 

“There’s some of the doctor’s stuff tied behind 
Leach’s saddle,” Mary said to Henry. “Get it.” 

Henry obeyed. 

“Tie it behind my saddle,” was the next command. 

Henry complied. 

“Now get on Morley’s horse,” said Mary; and 
Henry mounted. 

“Take the reins of the other horse and be ready 
to lead him.” 

Henry swung Morley’s horse to the head of Leach’s 
and took the reins. At the same time Mary was mount¬ 
ing her own animal, and she did it quickly, despite the 
pain that the jerky movement gave her. 

“All right,” she said to Henry. “Lead out at a 
gallop.” 

Morley risked a glance over his shoulder. “You’re 


DEADLY BULL AND SILVER FOX 247 

not going to leave us ’way out here on the desert, Miss 
Temple!” 

“That’s what you say,” said Mary, and with her hat 
spanked the rump of the horse that Henry was to lead 
to stir him into a gallop from the jump. 

A clatter of hoofs up the darkening desert road, 
and Leach and Morley were alone with their thoughts. 

Perhaps fifteen minutes later Mary slowed down to 
a walk, and, racked with pain, sat gasping in her saddle. 

“Ma’am,” said Shirttail Henry, whose horse had 
slowed with his mate, “ye’re a outlandish uncommon 
woman. I never guessed ye was th’ kind to ever run 
a dance hall like that Silver Fox place ye told about 
back there.” 

“No ?” gulped Mary. “Well, I never did—but don’t 
you suppose I ever read a story in my life? You talk 
too much. My rib hurts like fury. Shut up!” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE LAST TABLET 

O VER] the Valley of Arcana the snow banners 
streamed from the mastheads of the surround¬ 
ing peaks. Snow fell in the valley—soft snow 
that somehow seemed warm instead of cold. It dis¬ 
appeared on the bosom of the river, but thickened in 
eddies and made slush against piles of driftwood. The 
Valley of Arcana had not yet felt the grip of winter, 
but up above the banners of triumph waved and the 
artillery of the blizzards boomed. 

The Cave of Hypocritical Frogs was comfortable. 
The cold did not penetrate to its inner recesses. At 
the mouth Andy kept a fire going, and enough dead- 
wood had been gathered to last all winter. 

The snowbound prisoners sat together below the 
cave, on boulders close to the redwood saplings which 
made a bridge over the waterfall that told them weird 
tales of the waste places night and day. Often the 
speech of the talkative water changed to music, gathered 
unto itself rhythm and tunefulness. Sometimes choir 
boys were singing; sometimes male quartets; more 
often they fancied that ghost women, wild and dis¬ 
traught from woes undreamed of by mortal beings, 
were wiping their wet, clinging hair from their faces 
and lifting their voices in a piercing heathen chant 
of denunciation. 


248 


THE LAST TABLET 


249 

They sat together above the fall and watched the 
boiling water in the pool below—marvelled over the 
frenzied happiness of a lone water ouzel that frolicked 
there. \ 

He stood on a half-submerged stone and danced, 
this odd diving bird of the riffles and waterfalls, who 
seems to sing best wdien the water is cold as ice and 
dashing over him and about him. He courtesies and 
nods to right and left and sings happily whether or 
not the sun is shining; and then he dives. His are 
the pounding torrents, his the screaming rapids, his 
the showers of coldest spray that never chill his song. 
Alone, bobbing—smiling, one almost imagines—he 
seeks the cold dark canons where water roars, for 
dashing sprays are his sunshine. “The mountain 
stream’s own darling, the hummingbird of blooming 
waters,” wrote “Wonderful John” of him—John Muir, 
lover of God’s own! 

Hand in hand they sat and watched the ouzel, bob¬ 
bing and bowing as if pretending to shrink from the 
plunge he loved, and listened to his misty notes and the 
changing oratory of the waterfall. They were silent. 
Both were thinking deeply. For the day before Andy 
Jerome had swallowed the last half-tablet, and up 
above the snow was hourly closing the way for Dr. 
Shonto to come to them with more. Over them hung 
this thought like the thread-held sword of old. 

“Dear,” said Charmian, with that little upward twist 
of her mouth that always made him want to kiss it, 
“do you know that your beard is growing fearfully 
long? You see, I’m taking a proprietary interest in 


250 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

you already. What’ll I do to you after we’re mar¬ 
ried?” 

Andy laughed. “To tell the truth,” he replied, “I 
made a great blunder on this trip. Usually, out in the 
woods, I carry an old-fashioned razor. But this time 
I brought along my safety. And every blade is dull 
as a hoe. Can’t sharpen razor blades on sandstone, 
as I do my axe and knife. 

“But wouldn’t I be out of character if I failed to 
grow a beard? Ought to hang down on my manly 
breast and be full of burrs or something. And you 
ought to be wearing a knee-length skin dress, with the 
hair on. I’m afraid we aren’t playing up to our roles 
properly.” 

“I’m glad to see you so light-hearted,” she observed 
pensively. “I’m—I’m afraid I’m worrying a little 
too much, Andy.” 

His brow clouded instantly, and she knew that his 
lightness of heart was feigned. 

“It is storming like the dickens up there,” he ad¬ 
mitted. “Doctor Shonto will never be able to get 
through that stretch of chaparral if it continues. 
And—” 

“Yes?” she prompted. 

“And I guess it’ll continue, all right,” he finished 
gloomily. 

The hand that he held trembled a little. 

“It wouldn’t be so bad,” she mused, “if—if— Well, 
we could live here all winter, I believe. We can get 
plenty to eat—such as it is—and we can always keep 
warm. But—■” 


THE LAST TABLET 251 

“Yes, I know.” He squeezed her lingers. “It’s the 
devil. If we only knew what to expect! What the 
dickens is the matter with me, anyway? And why 
didn’t the doctor tell you, at least?” 

“He explained that—almost. He wants to be fair. 
He hoped that he could get back in time to save you 
from—from whatever is to happen to you. Then 
there would be no need to tell what he knows. He 
took that chance, do you understand? But now he 
won’t get back in time, and—and we’ll soon know what 
your great trouble is.” 

She sighed wearily. 

“Whatever it is, Charmian, you’ll never give me up, 
will you, dearest?” 

“Never!” 

They kissed long and tremulously, then the girl rose 
to her feet and pulled at his hand till he stood beside 
her. 

“Let’s go back to the Cave of Hypocritical Frogs,” 
she said. “It’s getting cold out here. And see, Andy 
•—the snow is beginning to thicken on the ground. It’ll 
be white by morning.” 

That same day she was putting their simple belong¬ 
ings to rights in the Cave of Hypocritical Frogs. Each 
had a table—a flat-topped stone—on which articles 
of daily use were kept. Womanlike, she fussed over 
his things, which he consistently left awry. He was 
outside cutting wood. She cleaned his comb and mili¬ 
tary brushes and laid things straight, then opened the 
leather-covered case that contained his safety-razor to 
make sure that he had not overlooked an unused blade. 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


252 

And in the little metal container she found three, still 
sealed in their paper covers. 

She called to him: 

“No caveman stuff for you for a time, young 
fellow! Come in here! I’ve found three new 
razor blades!” 

“Good work!” he praised her when he reached 
her side. “Wonder how I came to overlook ’em. 
Guess I just took it for granted they were all gone, 
and didn’t open the case at all.” 

But by next day his beard, which had reached the 
most unattractive stage, still covered his face. 

“Andy, why don’t you shave?” she asked. 

“By George! Forgot all about it. Getting used 
to this fuzz, I guess. Maybe I like it—I don’t know.” 

His laugh was insincere, and she regarded him in 
mild surprise. 

They were busy at separate tasks throughout that 
day, Andy having gone down the river alone to make 
an effort to get the canoe closer to the cave, and Char- 
mian washing clothes down by the pool below the 
waterfall. At supper she once more reminded him 
that he had not shaved. 

His boyish face grew red with confusion, and he 
stammered an apology. The pine cones that they 
used as torches would not give enough light for shav¬ 
ing after supper, and next morning he tramped away 
again with the beard still covering his face. 

She took him to task again when he returned at 
noon, standing before him and demanding, with a 
look of worriment in her eyes, the why of it. 


THE LAST TABLET 253 

“I—I just don’t seem to want to,” he confessed. 
“I don’t know why. But I hate to begin. Always 
dreaded the thing, and out here it seems so unneces¬ 
sary.” 

Then it was that she noticed his finger nails, for 
he had raised one hand to his shaggy beard and was 
fondling it abstractedly while it was under discussion. 
His finger nails were long and black with dirt. 

“Why, Andy!” she began; then stopped short, her 
face whitening. 

Always Andy had been clean and neat, so far as 
the conditions of camp life and the trail would per¬ 
mit. In fact, saving Dr. Shonto, she never had 
known a more fastidious man. Otherwise she never 
could have considered him her equal. A terrible 
thought came to her: This sudden shuffling off of the 
demands of civilization must be the first symptom of 
his malady. Considerately she said nothing, but for 
two days watched him closely, her heart like lead. He 
neither washed nor cleansed his finger nails during 
those two days, and she imagined that a certain 
amount of lustre had left his one-time bright-blue 
eyes. 

And then he yawned directly in her face one night, 
his mouth wide open, with no hand raised to cover the 
gap and no apology. And two days later she caught 
him eating broiled meat with his fingers, tearing it 
apart as if he never had seen a knife and fork. 

She cried herself to sleep that night and rose next 
morning with terror in her heart. 

And now the change came fast. Andy’s eyes became 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


254 

bleary. The colour of his face grew leaden, and the 
cheeks were bloated. His skin took on a dirty, flabby 
look. His tongue, which the horrified girl often saw 
hanging out at one corner of his mouth, had thickened, 
and the lips were perpetually moist. His breath be¬ 
came asthmatic. When he spoke he mumbled his 
words. Gradually, but with cruel swiftness, the light 
of reason left his leaden eyes; and within ten days 
after the last tablet had been swallowed Charmian 
Reemy knew that the man she loved was little better 
than an idiot. 

His head lopped forward as he sat at the mouth of 
the cave and stared, saying not a word, gazing at 
nothing, occasionally drawing in his swollen tongue, 
but never wiping from the ragged beard the saliva 
which he had drooled upon it. Again the tongue 
would creep out and downward, as if he lacked the 
muscular energy to keep it in its place. His long hair 
hung over his imbecile eyes; his long finger nails, un¬ 
sightly with dirt, looked like the talons of a bird. 

He would rouse himself when she shook him and, 
with tears streaming down her face, begged him to 
pull himself together. He would grin at her then 
and lick his lips with his thick tongue, but in a moment 
or two he would once more lose control of his facul¬ 
ties, and his head would drop forward, while out 
would creep the repulsive tongue. Sometimes he 
would laugh—a weird, insane chuckle that wrenched 
from the tortured girl a sob half of pity, half of 
horror. He walked occasionally, but did no work at 


THE LAST TABLET 255 

all. When this occurred he dragged his steps, sway¬ 
ing loosely from side to side as if his body knew no 
joints. He would pause often and, swaying slightly, 
would gaze this way and that as if trying to replace 
in his memory the significance of familiar objects. 

A few days more and he had ceased to speak. He 
muttered now and then, for no particular reason 
whatever, but his wet lips formed no words. Some¬ 
times he gazed at her as she moved about, but in his 
eyes was no question as to what she might be doing; 
the motion of her body simply had attracted him mo¬ 
mentarily and aroused a flicker of interest. But it 
would pass at once, and again he would let his head 
go forward, and sit gazing at the ground, while his 
tongue hung out and dripped. 

Meanwhile it snowed. The ground was covered 
two feet deep about the cave. Up in the higher alti¬ 
tudes the blizzards raged perpetually, and the air was 
filled with dismal moanings. All hope of Dr. Shonto’s 
returning to the Valley of Arcana, except in an aero¬ 
plane, had vanished. 

And the idiot sat at the door of the Cave of Hypo¬ 
critical Frogs and drooled, staring through his hang¬ 
ing hair I 

Never before had Charmian Reemy known fear, 
but now she suffered abject terror. All about her was 
ice and snow, and she shivered when a new note came 
in the monotonous roar of the waterfall. No longer 
sang the silver-throated choir boys. The high-pitched 
chorus that her fancy had once named theirs became 


256 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

the sinfully gleeful giggling of malicious sprites as 
they triumphed over her great disaster. The rollick¬ 
ing songs that the male quartet had sung changed to 
the bellowing of Satan, as when the angel of the Lord 
came down from heaven with the key to the bottom¬ 
less pit and chained him for a thousand years. 
Wrapped in her blankets, nightmares came to her so 
that she was afraid to sleep without the flickering 
light of a pine knot near her. Often she awoke 
screaming, gripped by an icy, throat-contracting fear. 
And once the nightmare took upon itself reality—and 
Madame Destrehan’s prophecy was fulfilled. 

There were fingers at her throat, long, curving 
talons that were black with dirt. Maniacal eyes 
looked into hers through a screen of hanging hair. 
Wet lips were close to her face, seen through a mat 
of unkempt beard, and from them lolled a tongue, 
black and swollen. 

She thought that she fainted—she did not know. 
But for a space of time—how great she never knew— 
the flickering pine-knot torch was gone and an icy 
wave swept over her. Then she was up, shrieking, 
struggling madly, hers the strength of half a dozen 
women. She hurled the ogre away from her, striking, 
clawing, pushing, and it crashed against a wall of the 
cave and sank to the floor in a disorderly heap. 

Panting, one hand clutching her breast, she gazed 
at it, huddled there, inert, breathing asthmatically. 
Then it moved, half rose, reclined once more in a pos¬ 
ture more human and natural. 

For an hour she watched, while the cold pierced 


THE LAST TABLET 


257 

her bones. Then, mustering her courage, she stole 
past IT to the outer chamber of the cave, where she 
collected blankets, brought them back, and threw 
them over the prostrate figure of what once had been 
Andrew Jerome. With her own blankets wrapped 
about her she remained in a sitting position, stark 
awake, until the cold, feeble light of another day in 
the Valley of Arcana crept in. 

He was not injured. He merely had lost in a 
twinkling the brief flicker of energy that had returned 
to him, perhaps in a dream. Perhaps he had been 
asleep throughout, and his subconscious mind had re¬ 
vived and energized him where his conscious mind 
had failed to function. Perhaps her fierce defence 
had awakened him and had caused him to lapse back. 
He dragged himself up when it was light, and she 
guided him to his customary seat at the mouth of the 
cave. 

Her daily needs served eventually to turn her mind 
on necessary tasks, which helped her to forget the 
horror of her days and nights. She must conserve the 
jerked meat, which together they had smoked so care¬ 
fully over the smouldering fires, and attend to the 
traps. She trudged away through the snow, forced 
to leave Andy to his fate, gaping there at the mouth 
of the Cave of Hypocritical Frogs. But when she 
reached the first dead-fall and found a dead jack- 
rabbit beneath the fallen stone she let it lie. One by 
one she visited other traps, springing them when she 
found no little dead body, and releasing live quail 
caught in the quail traps. She would eat the jerky, 


258 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

and when that was gone— Well, then she would find 
something else. She could not kill! 

Sometimes she was almost tempted to pray that 
something might happen to Andy—that he might 
rouse himself and try to wander somewhere through 
the rocks, and meet with a fall that would end in 
instant death. He was almost helpless. She had 
brought herself to wash his hands and face, shudder¬ 
ing with repulsion, and whacked off the offensive claws. 
She wanted to shave him, but was afraid that she did 
not know how, and shrank from the task. As yet he 
was able to feed himself, but in a manner that was 
wolfish when it was not like the food-cramming of a 
two-year-old; and she turned her back and never ate 
with him. The firewood was plentiful, and she had 
only to cut it or break it with the hunter’s axe. All 
day long she kept the smoke of the signal fire stream¬ 
ing aloft, but she imagined that it was dispersed by 
the blizzards sweeping overhead, and would serve no 
purpose even were the doctor trying to reach her. 

She cut wood and washed clothes, pulverized nuts 
and acorns for bread, cooked their meals, and watched 
the snow pile up about the Cave of Hypocritical Frogs, 
and when there was nothing to do she left her charge 
and sought the waterfall, unable to bear the pitiable 
sight of him. Not that there was solace in the roar¬ 
ing and croaking and murmuring of the water. Its 
icy sheets depressed her immeasurably. But below it 
played and sang the water ouzel, happy, bobbing up 
and down and nodding sidewise, singing as if there 


THE LAST TABLET 


259 

were no terrors upon the earth, while over him and 
about him dashed the freezing spray. He who could 
sing at the top of his voice and dance throughout days 
that were dull and dreary, in the very teeth of the 
raging waters, gave solace. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


ADRIFT ON LOST RIVER 

H ERE sat Charmian abreast the pounding 
waters, sobbing at times as if her heart 
would break, while up at the cave lolled the 
drivelling thing that once had been a man, young and 
handsome and pulsing with the thrill of life. The 
little water ouzel bowed and bobbed to her, perched 
on a stone in the frothy pool below. He was like a 
boy stripped for the first spring plunge into his 
favourite swimming hole, but jouncing on the spring¬ 
board, shivering in anticipation of the chilling dive, 
and thinking up excuses to postpone it. Yet always 
he dived, broke the surface of the water again, and 
perched himself once more on his aquatic throne. 
Here he bobbed his head to the girl and danced 
about, then lifted a voice attuned to the song of the 
dashing waters, but merging trills of gladness with 
their funeral dirge. He was always there; he never 
failed her. He feared her not at all, neither did he 
court her. The only jarring element in their compan¬ 
ionship was his complete indifference to her presence. 
But she forgave him this when he sent forth his fluty 
notes in defiance of ice and snow and driving spray. 
Here she sat and wept, ofttimes trembling from the 
cold, and prayed for relief from this hideous thing 
that had come upon her. 


260 


ADRIFT ON LOST RIVER 261 

Her brief dream of love had faded. At first she 
had striven bravely to keep the fires burning, devoting 
herself to sacrifices for him, trying to remember him 
as he had been only a few short days before. At 
times she hated herself for what she considered her 
inconstancy and lack of character. But her dream of 
love had gone—and now she realized that love never 
had existed. He had swept her off her feet, this once 
handsome, careless boy, and her youth had responded 
to his. Now she had time to think, and she knew that 
she had dreamed. 

She remembered now how she had tried to draw 
him into serious discussion of various topics that in¬ 
terested her, and should have interested him, and how 
persistently he had evaded them. He had been a stu¬ 
dent of the law, but even upon that topic she had been 
unable to draw a thoughtful word from him. Light¬ 
hearted, boyish, shallow-minded, care-free he had al¬ 
ways been, with never a thought for the morrow, his 
distant future, or hers. How bitterly she recalled all 
this now! How blind she had been! Never could 
they have been happy together. She had not loved 
Andy Jerome—the female in her had succumbed to 
the male attraction that his vigorous manhood offered; 
she had surrendered to that alone. 

Dr. Shonto had been right. Dr. Shonto was always 
right. Andy Jerome was not for her. Now she saw 
that, with this dreadful thing constantly threatening 
him, his family had not urged him to mental perform¬ 
ances which would strengthen his mind and character. 
Out of love for him they had let him go his way, well 


262 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

supplied with money, and with nothing to bother him. 
His schooling, she imagined, had been a mere pre¬ 
tence, designed to delude him and his friends into be¬ 
lieving he was normal. In the end he would have 
turned out a failure, perhaps, but he would not have 
been the first failure in a rich man’s family. Nothing 
would have come of it, and he would have lived his 
life in blissful ignorance of the real cause of his fail¬ 
ure. Dr. Inman Shonto, she believed, had counselled 
them to do this. 

She was thinking of Inman Shonto hourly these days 
—of his grave, kindly smile, his tolerance of human 
shortcomings, his knowledge, success, liberal ideas, and 
lofty idealism. She never once thought of his ugliness 
of face. In her picture of him she saw only the mag¬ 
netic smile and the power of that face. 

It had occurred to her once—just once—that 
Shonto might have prolonged his return so that Andy 
would run out of his medicine, when he would be re¬ 
vealed to her in all his monstrousness. But she had 
put the ungenerous thought behind her instantly. Dr. 
Shonto never would stoop to such a thing as that. 

No, something serious had detained him. He would 
come to her soon, if it was possible for an aeroplane 
to cope successfully with the mountain blizzards that 
raged over the Valley of Arcana. He would return 
to her. She heard it in the unceasing song of the 
little water ouzel. 

She had lost track of the days. Andy now was 
helpless, insensible to cold and pain. At night she 
helped him to his blankets, made him lie down, and 


ADRIFT ON LOST RIVER 263 

wrapped him up. She slept in the outer chamber of 
the cave now—slept fitfully, for she must needs be 
up every other hour to replenish the fire, lest her 
charge throw off his covering and freeze to death. 
Also her own covering was insufficient, for it was 
growing colder, and but for the cave and the leaping 
fire she surely would have suffered from the steadily 
lowering temperature. 

She rose one morning about nine o’clock. The sky 
was leaden, as usual, and the wind moaned over the 
Valley of Arcana. It was cold and dreary in the cave, 
for she had slept for the past three hours and the fire 
had died down to a bed of coals. She glanced once 
at the huddled form under the blankets, then with the 
wooden shovel moved the drifted snow from the en¬ 
trance and rebuilt the signal fire outside. Then she 
made acorn bread—how she hated it!—soaked and 
stewed jerked rabbit, and laid out on the stone table 
an array of dried grapes and huckleberries. 

When the unappetizing meal was ready she tried 
to drag the inert man from his blankets, but he mut¬ 
tered and refused to move. So she ate, and afterward 
made an effort to feed him, but without avail. 

She wondered if he was dying. She wondered, too, 
at her indifference. Surely he would be better dead. 
Her existence had become a primitive one, and primi¬ 
tive people are wont to look at such things as life and 
death in a most pragmatic light. But she hated her¬ 
self again for not worrying over his fate. If he re¬ 
fused to eat, however, what could she do? Dr. 
Shonto had told her that she would know what to do 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


264 

if the tablets should run out before his return. She 
knew now what he had meant. She could feed Andy 
and keep him from freezing—and nothing more! 

She left him wrapped in his blankets, breathing 
huskily, a motionless heap of animal matter. She 
waded through the snow that had drifted into the 
trail, which the previous day she had cleared, and 
sought the waterfall and her friend of the driving 
spray. 

He was there before her, perched upon his stone, 
bowing and scraping, and bobbing about like a hard 
working auctioneer. This morning, however, his song 
failed to cheer her. She wondered if she were going 
mad. Strange thoughts had been in her mind since 
she had arisen. She somehow seemed indifferent to 
what might lie berore her. She was dull and apathetic, 
and it seemed that she almost was as insensible to 
grief and fear as that vegetated man lying like a dying 
fish in the Cave of Hypocritical Frogs. She could not 
cry this morning. With dull eyes she gazed at the 
antics of the water ouzel, and her thoughts were taken 
up with a vague wonder of everything—life particu¬ 
larly. She wondered who she was, why she was, what 
she was—wondered if her past were all a dream—won¬ 
dered if she had not lived in this deserted valley al¬ 
ways, and only dreamed of civilization and a girl 
called Charmian Reemy. 

She must fight this off. She w r as growing afraid— 
afraid of herself! She twisted her fingers together 
in a sudden agony of realization of her plight, as 


ADRIFT ON LOST RIVER 


265 

when an unannounced wave of understanding sweeps 
across the befuddled mind of a drunken man and he 
knows that he is drunk, and for a moment suffers deep 
remorse. She rose to her feet to walk about for 
warmth— 

And then the water ouzel bobbed to the surface 
and flew to his perch; and near the place where he had 
risen she saw a shining object tossing about in the 
writhing current. 

It was such an unfamiliar object that she stood and 
looked at it uncomprehendingly. It was about a foot 
in length, seemed cylindrical, and was unaccountably 
bright. This brightness had attracted her. It was 
so out of place in that dull-coloured land. 

It was a length of tree limb, she told herself. 
Some piece of driftwood twelve inches long by three 
inches in diameter, with the bark slipped off. But what 
had made the under bark so bright? Was it river 
slime ? 

Certainly—it could be nothing else. 

She turned away, stopped—turned back again. 

There it was eddying about in the swirling water. 
It was bright! Bright! Bright like metal! And metal 
did not float— 

Except! 

With a new strange thought she clambered rapidly 
down over the stones and reached the level of the 
ouzel’s throne. She found a long stick, but it was 
far too short to reach the queer object tossing upon 
the boiling water. She watched it tremblingly. It was 


266 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

metal. No inner bark could assume that brightness, 
no slime of the water could cause a piece of limb to 
deceive the eye so easily. 

All eagerness, fearful of disillusionment, she tested 
the water’s depth, but had known before she did so 
that she dared not venture in. 

The riotous current, twisting this way and that with¬ 
out stability of direction, had swept the bright object 
to the middle of the pool once more. And now it 
struck the main channel and went racing downstream, 
past the water ouzel’s perch, and into the straight 
stretch of river below. 

And Charmian knew that it was of metal and meant 
for her. 

The lost river! Down Lost River, through the 
mysterious underground passages, Dr. Inman Shonto 
had sent a message to her, incased in a metal cylinder! 

Feverish with anxiety, she clambered over the stones 
and reached the level land above the pool. Now, 
running with all her might, she followed the river’s 
course through the heavy snow. The metal cylinder 
was being swept downstream at a rapid rate. Her only 
hope lay in reaching the canoe ahead of it, and paddling 
out to await its coming. 

Trees and boulders shut off her view of the river. 
Hence she had no notion of the speed of the drifting 
cylinder, and in greatest excitement and dread of loss 
she waded on through the drifts, streaming perspira¬ 
tion. Almost the last rational act of Andy Jerome 
before he succumbed to the hideous malady had been 
to paddle the canoe upstream as near as possible to the 


ADRIFT ON LOST RIVER 267 

cave. He had been obliged to beach it below a second 
waterfall, past which the two of them had been unable 
to carry it. 

At last, staggering on, she heard abreast of her the 
roar of the lower waterfall. She left the open and 
ploughed into the trees. She reached the river, stag¬ 
gering from the fierce strain. And now a dread 
thought came to her: Had she the strength to shove 
the heavy, awkward craft into the water? She re¬ 
membered that it had required the combined efforts 
of her and Andy to launch it before, to which they 
had found it necessary to add no little ingenuity. 

But a feeble cry came from her lips as she neared 
the spot where they had left it. The river had risen. 
The canoe had launched itself and was riding easily 
at the end of the tough grass rope that they had braided 
for a painter and tied to a sapling on the river bank. 

She had never paddled this canoe, nor any other 
canoe. She knew, though, from what Andy had told 
her, that she must be cautious and not unbalance the 
clumsy craft. In her excitement she had stepped into it, 
taken up the paddle, and propelled it to the limit al¬ 
lowed by the grass rope before she realized that it 
was still made fast to the sapling. 

She pulled inshore again and stepped out, when, 
as she fumblingly untied the rope, she realized that 
it would be folly for her to paddle to the middle of the 
stream until the cylinder came in sight. She would wait 
inshore in the canoe, with paddle in readiness, until she 
saw the bright object coming down on the swift current. 

She carefully entered once more, and knelt on the 


268 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


rough bottom with her crude paddle. And now the 
terrible idea seized her that perhaps she had been too 
slow and that the cylinder had long since drifted by. 

She waited, torn by doubt and indecision, and was 
on the point of leaving the canoe and plunging on 
downstream when a bright something came toward her 
bobbing on the waves in the middle of the river. 

With an inarticulate cry she shoved off and paddled 
awkwardly ahead of it. Then the main current caught 
her, whirled her completely around, and started her 
downstream at the same rate that the cylinder was 
travelling. 

She paddled upstream, but seemed unable to gain a 
foot. She dipped more vigorously, her eyes on the 
drifting object of her hopes. The canoe was swept 
into a rapids, struck a snag—and next instant she was 
in the icy water, with the canoe capsized and hurrying 
on. 

She could swim, and her bellows breeches did not 
impede the movements of her legs as a skirt would 
have done. But she wore her heavy hiking shoes; 
the current was swift and dangerous; the river was 
deep; in a deplorably short time the ice-cold water 
would chill her blood and benumb her muscles. 

She struck out bravely; but, already half exhausted 
from her race through the snowdrifts, she made little 
headway toward the snag that had capsized the canoe. 
The water boiled over her, swept her about unmerci¬ 
fully, and blinded her. Terror seized her as she real¬ 
ized that she was not equal to the struggle against it. 
She went completely under three times, twisted down 


ADRIFT ON LOST RIVER 269 

by the undertow or whirlpools. She was losing! She 
could not make the snag. 

And then, coming up for the fourth time, gasping 
for air, her outflung hand touched something hard and 
smooth, and her fingers closed over a cylinder of brass. 

Five minutes later, stunned, almost unable to move 
a limb from the deadly coldness of the water, she 
half swam, half floated to a projecting rock far down¬ 
stream from the point where she had grasped the 
cylinder. She clutched it with a hand, rested a minute 
or more, then dragged herself upon it and lay gasp¬ 
ing for breath, with the cylinder pressed to her heav¬ 
ing breast. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE MESSAGE 

C HARMIAN was more dead than alive, as the 
saying goes, when she reached the Cave of Hy¬ 
pocritical Frogs. Here, with shaking hands, she 
stripped to the skin and rubbed her limbs and body 
as vigorously as her benumbed condition would permit, 
her teeth chattering like a tiny riveting machine. The 
signal fire was smouldering. She raked away the green 
conifer branches which kept the smoke stream rising 
and heaped on dry wood. It blazed up soon, and 
when she dared she stood close to it invoking its 
warmth. 

An hour had passed before she felt able to examine 
the brass cylinder that had come floating so mysteri¬ 
ously down the ice-fringed river. 

As has been stated, it was about a foot in length by 
three inches in diameter. One end was solid brass. 
The other end had been sealed with brown wax. 

Huddled close to the fire, nude but for the blanket 
that was wrapped about her, she hacked tremblingly 
at the wax, first with a hunter’s axe and then a jack¬ 
knife. 

The wax surrendered to her prying, and she hacked 
out perhaps two inches of it. It had been poured in 

to this depth, she reasoned, to guard against its being 

270 


THE MESSAGE 271 

loosened by stones and sticks against which it might 
have bumped in its underground passage from the 
mountains above the valley. 

At last it was all loose. She dumped the last of it 
on the cave floor. Looking in the cylinder, she saw a 
pasteboard disc the exact size of the container, which 
had been pressed down against the cargo of this 
mysterious carrier to stand as a partition against the 
contents and the melted wax. 

She pried it out with the point of her knife as one 
fishes for an obstinate cork. Then, holding her breath, 
she poured the contents of the cylinder on the floor. 

Small paper bundles fell out, and among them was 
a folded piece of paper. This she grasped up first, 
unfolded, and found to be a note signed Inman Shonto. 
She read, while the tears brimmed in her eyes: 

“My Dear Charmian: 

“This is the fourth brass cylinder that I have 
thrown in Lost River in the hope that it will float 
through the underground passages to the Valley of 
Arcana, where you may find it. A note accompanied 
its three predecessors, and each one instructed you to 
build two signal fires if you found the cylinder so that 
I would know it had reached you. For several days 
I have watched the stream of smoke from your fire, 
longing always to see the second stream ascend. And 
I have suffered because no second stream came. 

“I have about decided, therefore, that Lost River 
does not run through the valley, or that my cylinders 
have caught on something and failed to reach you. 


272 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

For in some strange way it seems to me that, if they 
did float into the Valley of Arcana, you would find 
them. Which is childish of me, I suppose. But it 
bolsters up my courage nevertheless. I have only three 
more cylinders to send, and will send them two days 
apart unless I see the second stream of smoke. 

“Now follows a repetition of what the other mes¬ 
sages contained: 

“Build another signal fire as soon as you have read 
this, so that I will know you have received my message 
and are again in command of the situation. By this 
time, I think, Andy Jerome will have lasped into a 
terrible state, and you will be almost insane. But in 
the cylinder you will find more tablets. Give him one 
a day regularly—no more—and if he is not too far 
gone he will come back to normalcy with surprising 
swiftness. It may seem incredible to you, but it is the 
truth. 

“Andy Jerome, Charmian, is a cretin. A cretin, 
you perhaps must be told, is an hereditary idiot. Cre¬ 
tinism is most prevalent in the Swiss Alps, where Andy’s 
ancestors lived—on his mother’s side, I mean. Up 
until recently cretinism has been considered incurable 
by the medical profession; but the discovery that man 
is regulated by his gland secretions had done away 
with that theory. Cretins are only human beings suf¬ 
fering from a lack of thyroid in their systems. Their 
other glands may be functioning properly, but when 
the secretions of the thyroid are deficient they are 
hopeless idiots. However, science has discovered that 
if they are fed daily a tablet composed of the extract 


THE MESSAGE 


273 

of the thyroid glands of sheep they will, to all intents 
and purposes, become normal. But in a few days 
after the treatment is stopped they will quickly slip back 
into cretinism again, with all its degradation. Then 
let the treatment be renewed, and in a short while the 
patient will have lost all of the symptoms of cretinism 
and gradually will come back. It seems incompre¬ 
hensible, I realize, but it is nevertheless a thoroughly 
demonstrated scientific fact. 

“Cretinism runs in Andy’s family. Certain children 
of a generation ago in his mother’s family were born 
cretins. Others escaped to a certain extent. Andy’s 
mother, for instance, is perfectly normal in every way. 
But the taint cropped up in her child when he was 
about eight years of age, at which time I was working 
hardest on my theory regarding the significance of the 
gland secretions as determinants of human personality. 
I myself brought Andy out of cretinism and made him 
appear like other men. 

“We have been careful with him and have en¬ 
couraged an outdoor life. While he seems to learn 
readily, he takes no particular interest in his studies, 
is irresponsible, and unsettled in his habits. He has 
never missed a day in taking his medicine, for I refused 
to experiment with him. I am not sure now that he 
has lapsed back into cretinism; but, considering the 
time that I have been away, it seems almost certain 
that he should be pretty far gone. 

“My delay in returning to you was unavoidable. I 
think that I could have made it back ahead of the 
snows if I had not encountered our old friends Leach 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


274 

and Morley, who kidnapped me, blindfolded me, and 
led me into a series of strange adventures.” 

Here followed a brief account of the doctor’s im¬ 
prisonment in the adobe hut at Tanburt Ranch and of 
his subsequent release by Shirttail Henry and Mary; 
Temple. 

“Marvellous Mary Temple!” continued the letter. 
“Suffering agonies because of her broken rib, she never¬ 
theless refused to give in until she and Henry had 
ridden to the ranch, after her spectacular hold-up of the 
prospectors, and set me free. Old Gus Tanburt was 
mooning about the house, I guess, and we got away 
from the ranch after dark with little difficulty. Then 
I relieved Shirttail Henry of his horse—or, rather, 
Tanburt’s horse—and Mary and I rode all night to 
Diamond H Ranch. Henry, I suppose, walked back 
to his camp in the buttes, with fifty dollars that I gave 
him for another drunk. He said he had spent all of 
the two hundred and fifty that you gave him for his 
services as guide. Poor old Henry! Mary says one 
more hot day will finish him! 

“At Diamond H we got my car and I drove Mary 
to the city, where I rushed her to a hospital and com¬ 
manded her to stay there. Then I got what I needed 
from my laboratory, having in the meantime thought 
of trying to float medicine and other things to you 
down Lost River in brass cylinders, provided I should 
fail to reach you by airplane. It all depended on 
whether Lost River actually ran underground to the 


THE MESSAGE 


275 

Valley of Arcana. I knew that it was snowing hard 
in the mountains, but that it was too late for me to get 
in afoot. 

“I was fortunate in being able to hire a government 
monoplane, but the pilot was doubtful about the moun¬ 
tain blizzards from the outset. However, he was 
game and willing to do his best, and we set out hope¬ 
fully. 

“In a surprisingly short time the mountains were 
below us, and I thought of all the hardships you and I 
had gone through in covering the same distance. But 
the storms were raging; we could see almost nothing 
of the land beneath us. It was impossible to make a 
landing anywhere, but when a blizzard caught us we 
made one nevertheless. 

“I thought my last day had come when we swooped 
down at terrific speed. But the pilot regained control 
of the thing, and, though we could not rise again, we 
came down much more slowly. We landed in a snow¬ 
drift high up in the mountains, and my pilot was 
knocked senseless, having struck his head on something 
in the fall. I was completely unhurt. 

“I was a long time locating ourselves. I had to 
work alone, because Lieutenant Cantenwine, the pilot, 
was helpless. But finally, wandering about, I came 
upon a streak through the forest where trees had been 
felled and brush cut, indicating a trail under the snow. 
I followed it, and it led me to an Indian village. 

“I had stumbled upon the reservation that Henry 
told us about at Shirttail Bend. The Indians were 
kind and readily offered to help me. The entire tribe, 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


276 

I believe, accompanied me back to Cantenwine and the 
airplane. It was the biggest day in their lives. 

“They carried the lieutenant to the reservation on 
a stretcher, where I put him to bed. His skull is not 
fractured, but he has had a terrible shaking-up and was 
out of business. I had no way of knowing whether the 
plane was damaged or not, for I know nothing about 
airplanes. So I paid no attention to that, but next 
day questioned the Indians about Lost River, and was 
told that the source of it was not many miles away. 
They offered to take me to it on snowshoes, and we 
set out early through a driving storm. 

“We reached it, and, with the awed natives stand¬ 
ing about, I launched two of the cylinders. Two days 
later I went again with a guide and launched the third. 
Since then I have spent the greater part of my time 
doctoring Cantenwine and, since the weather has 
cleared, watching for the second stream of smoke, 
which never rose. 

“The lieutenant is about now and has examined the 
airplane. It is not damaged beyond repair, and he 
is at work on it. He hopes to be able to make another 
attempt to reach the Valley of Arcana in a few days, 
if the weather continues to clear. We will circle over 
the valley, when we locate it, and try to make a land¬ 
ing on the lake. It must be frozen over, and we think 
that the high winds that have been blowing ought to 
clear the ice of snow. If not, landing will be a serious 
matter; but we hope for the best. 

“This is all, Charmian, and I hope fervently that 
God will direct this message into your hands. Your 


THE MESSAGE 277 

single stream of smoke tells me that you are alive, 
and I thank Him for that. If Andy is in the condition 
that I think he is, you will realize now that you can 
never marry him. Even though we are able to bring 
him back to his old buoyant self, marriage is out of the 
question for him. He has no right to bring children 
into the world, which may be cretins, as he is. Know¬ 
ing him as I do, I feel sure that, when he realizes his 
condition, he will give you up to me if it kills him. 
Poor Andy! I know that this must be a bitter blow 
to you, and I am sorry. But you must be told the truth 
now, and Andy must know too. If he comes back be¬ 
fore we reach you, tell him everything. 

“God bless you and help you. 

“Devotedly, 

“Inman Shonto.” 

For a long time after reading the message Charmian 
sat staring at the fire. Absent-mindedly she opened 
the packages—found tablets, coffee, sugar—all dry. 
Then she suddenly realized that she was growing 
cold again, and rose to put on such dry clothes as she 
could find. With these on, and the blanket again 
wrapped about her, she went out in a sort of stupor 
and built a second signal fire about a hundred feet from 
the first. She returned to the cave and seated herself 
again, drying her clothes before the blaze. She was 
stunned, stupid. She could not think. It was the cold, 
she told herself. Everything was all right now. In¬ 
man Shonto would come to her soon. She would hear 
a human voice again—his voice! 


278 THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 

Her chin sank to her breast and she fell sound asleep 
sitting upright before the fire. 

• • ♦ • • • • 

Days had passed—how many Charmian Reemy did 
not know—before she heard the hum of the airplane 
in the sky above the Valley of Arcana. Another storm 
had raged since she had received the doctor’s message, 
and the mystic snow banners had streamed above the 
sink from the surrounding peaks. She had realized 
that it was impossible for him to reach her under these 
conditions, and had bravely submitted to the inevitable. 
Daily she cooked and ate her simple food. How de¬ 
lightful was the coffee! Daily she gave the cretin his 
tablet—forced it between his swollen lips and washed 
it down his throat with water, often nearly choking 
him. 

Gradually the miracle took place. Slowly but surely 
the film left the eyes of the sufferer, and day by day 
they brightened. The swelling left the protruding 
tongue. The sallowness departed from the skin. The 
flabbiness departed. The lips became dry and firm.. 
The asthmatic wheeze was gone from his breathing. 
The bloated, baglike abdomen receded. The light of 
reason came back in his eyes, and he drew in his pro¬ 
truding tongue repeatedly, glancing shame-facedly at 
Charmian to see if she had observed. 

He smiled at her. He began to mumble. Then 
words came, and finally simple, broken sentences ex¬ 
pressing the sufferer’s wants. 

He was at this stage when the snow ceased falling. 
Two days of calm were followed by a bitter wind, 


THE MESSAGE 


279 

which cut the snow from the hillsides and sent Charmian 
struggling to a lofty eminence from where she had a 
view of the distant ice-locked lake. 

She could see the snow clouds blowing over there, 
and her heart leaped with hope. Then the airplane 
came roaring over the valley, circled down into it, 
glided to one end of the lake, turned, and came on in 
a downward swoop with the stretch of ice before it. 
She saw it strike the ice and held her breath. Great 
clouds of snow dust arose and hit it, and she screamed 
with dread. But next instant she saw it skimming 
over the ice at terrific speed, the snow clouds trailing 
behind it. Slower and slower became its rate of prog¬ 
ress; and when it was still Charmian sank down in 
the snow, and for the first time since reading the 
doctor’s message she found relief in tears. 

She stood up after the storm of tears had passed 
and saw two tiny figures coming toward her over the 
snow. She watched them, fascinated, for over half 
an hour, insensible to the biting wind. Then when 
they drew nearer she noted that they were headed 
toward her smoke streams, and she jumped about and 
waved her arms to attract attention to herself. 

Presently she knew that they had seen her, for the 
foremost waved his hat and the two changed direction. 
The speed at which they travelled showed that they 
were on snowshoes. They come on rapidly straight 
toward her. Then when they were very near and she 
heard a faint shout and recognized the doctor’s voice, 
a sudden wild panic seized her. She had been alone 
so long in that wild, desolate snow land, with only a 


28 o 


THE VALLEY OF ARCANA 


helpless, drivelling idiot for company, that a strange 
dread of meeting these men took hold on her. Again 
the doctor shouted to her. Hysteria overcame her. 
With a little moan she turned and started running 
like a wild thing toward her cave. 

Three times she stumbled over rocks hidden in the 
snow and pitched forward on her face. She had left 
the knoll and was on the level land. She glanced 
back over her shoulder as she ran. It seemed that no 
one was pursuing her. She slackened her pace, stopped, 
trembling and sobbing, and tried to fight off her terror. 

And then it was that a figure suddenly stood before 
her with two arms outstretched. She had not realized 
that they would not follow her over the knoll, but 
would keep to the level land and travel much faster 
than she had. They even had passed her, and had cut 
in ahead of her. 

She shrank back, biting her white lips. 

“There—there—there!” came in soothing tones. 
“It’s all right now—all right now, Charmian.” 

Next instant the long arms closed about her. Her 
tears burst forth again, but she lowered her head to 
Inman Shonto’s shoulder, and the panic passed. 

“There—there—there!”—as soft as the voice of a 
mother bending over the cradle of her child. 

She looked up, dark eyes swimming. There came a 
smile—a little up-flirt at one corner of her mouth. 

Without reserve he lowered his lips to hers and 
kissed her tenderly, as if all along he had known that 
this precious moment would one day come to him. 

“It’s all right now—all right now, Charmian.” 


THE MESSAGE 


281 


And Charmian knew that it was all right now. 

Two hours later the great man-made bird rose from 
the ice-sheet on the lake and roared away over the 
Valley of Arcana—away from the ice and snow and 
the horrors of the rocky cave—away to the sunny 
green lands that border the blue Pacific. 

And the little ouzel, lifting his fluty notes amidst 
the icy spray of his beloved waterfall, bobbed and 
bowed and dived happily, and knew not of its going. 


THE END 









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